


Muddled

by lethargicshadowlover



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Akumatized, Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lots of it, Love, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Explicit Sex, Possible smut, Reveal, Suggestive Themes, University AU, bad language, choo choo, eventually, i am trash, i will add tags as time goes on, if i decide to, in all four forms, not really akumatized, of what is basically just one ship, old miraculous holders, reference to suicide, sorry if that puts you off or triggers you, sorry that was late added I just changed the plot massively, sort of, thats explained though, they're very cute at points
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicshadowlover/pseuds/lethargicshadowlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was thought by the time she turned twenty Marinette Dupain-Cheng would have her life in order, her heart locked in a safe place, and her dreams well on their way to being achieved. See, University was great and all, but it didn't provide help and answers to how these things were possible. But her salvation did come, in a friendship she didn't think would be possible with the man she'd swooned over through her teenage years.</p><p>Still, even with Adrien Agreste at her side in more ways than she could've hoped, one issue remains to break the foundations she'd worked to build, and, that issue came in the form of Chat Noir. But Ladybug, too, must take the blame for so many mistakes as the two of them find themselves confusing each others lives unknowingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Miraculous based fic. Writing is my biggest passion and I really wanted to share this story with you all, so I hope you enjoy it :)

Sitting side by side on a couch with inches between them would’ve rendered Marinette a flustered puddle on the floor in front of where they sat eight months ago, but now it felt somewhat easy. Every now and then whilst she sat and innocently sipped on her wine, watching Adrien’s problems spill from his mouth as he ranted, her cheeks would flush, but that was just old habits refusing to die.

Over all, she was calm now. _Now_ , instead of watching and pining for his affection - although it had calmed hugely, she couldn't deny her attraction to him - she could sit and listen and take in his words. And, honestly, that felt better than anything.

It took days of sitting in their university library studying side by side in silence, weeks of awkward yet incredibly kind smiles, and months of complementation of her art portfolio for their friendship to form, but boy was she glad it had.

And so was he.

Whenever he needed advice with women or just a moment to complain about anything, he knew he could trust Marinette to sit there, watch him intently and listen as she drank whatever beverage he could find on his kitchen side for them to share. Every piece of advice that she gave was genuine, and helped him almost without fail. She was a saviour to his sanity, and he repaid the favour.

Adrien would sit through Marinette’s whining and her frantic sessions where she would worry and panic about the various aspects of her life almost every night and take in every little detail. Even once she’d spilt red wine on the cream carpet of his living room, and he was on all four mopping up he’d listen to her worries and her regrets and try his best to console her. She never gave him feedback, but he liked to think he did a good job most of the time; after all, she kept coming back, didn’t she?

The rendezvous was almost nightly. With them living in apartments just a few streets apart, the walk between was short whichever home they were stationed at, but his was always preferable to her. She liked the way his carpet bounced back beneath her socks as she walked, and relished the feel of the smooth black leather sofa as she leant on it. Adrien’s place was certainly fit for a rich man’s son, and unlike her’s there wasn’t a crack or leak in sight.

But that was why he enjoyed it so much at her’s.

Although the place was cramped - the bed was stationed in the living room to account for the lack of sofa and also since she had no ‘bedroom’ - he loved to feel the breeze drift through the cracks that teased the wind into the rooms. Clearly he knew why she _didn’t_  love it, but the normality brought him down to Earth in such a simple way it felt pure and not brattish.

Tonight however, they were at his, away from the unwanted haunting of a chill on Marinette’s neck save the shiver when he smirked at her (she couldn’t help it, he was still unbelievable!) and into the coziness of the sofa cushions she loved so dearly.

Her body melted into the pneumatic cushions as she watched him, unfrequent blushes invading her cheeks. The blonde hair that fell in front of his eyes shook and repositioned. It was the way he moved his head with passion when speaking that caused this movement, and it was something that always made Marinette smile, even after eight months of seeing it.

“I suppose it’s just nerves, though, eh?” he chuckled, throwing his head back to chug down the last slither of wine at the bottom of his glass. “One can’t expect to escape nerves when they’re working their ass off on a Physics PhD.”

Marinette smiled and elbowed him. “Well, I reckon you’ll ace it, so calm down.” Sitting up, she smirked a little more and put down her own glass. “Oh, and stop saying ‘one’. You sound so above it all.”

With a smile Adrien set his glass on the coffee table, and he too sat up straight to face her better. “Thanks for the advice, all of it; sarcastic and sweet.”

“No problem,” she replied softly.

Sluggishly her feet touched the ground and she shuffled herself away to reach her raincoat. The cold fabric sent a shiver through her arm as it grazed her fingertips, but was nothing in comparison to the shock that jolted through her when a hand touched her shoulder.

“Wait. If it’s okay, there’s one more thing I want to get out.”

Her head whipped round, a glimmer of near-gone hope and confusion in her eyes. “Go ahead.”

Adrien looked to the side and rubbed together his fingertips nervously. Marinette could tell he was confused, conflicted, unsure how to word the many thoughts into his head into a coherent sentence. She knew the feeling too well. After all, it even if she had failed the sentence structuring, that had been how she felt talking to him from ages fifteen to twenty.

“There’s a girl,” began Adrien, eyes lost from her and gaze off somewhere she’d never be able to picture, “and she’s all I could ever want. I adore her.”

The silence that followed couldn’t have been intentional, but Marinette felt the need to fill it. “Then go get her. Tell her. I don’t know a girl who’d turn you down, Adrien.”

“But she sees a side of me that nobody else gets to, and I’m almost certain she can’t stand it.” When his arms flew behind his head and he turned around exasperated, a loud groan escaped his throat. “I haven’t seen her in weeks and I miss the fuck out of her, and I would contact her if I could but…”

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know who—”

He stopped himself, remembering to be careful. Giving away that he didn’t know the identity of this girl to someone as smart as Marinette was too risky. He didn’t want Ladybug getting hassle for such petty things as him and rumours people spread. Not that Marinette would, of course, but it was an unwritten part of the contract to be overly cautious with the identities of Chat Noir and Ladybug.

“I don’t have her number,” he corrected, “or address, e-mail, anything. She’s impossible to find and impossible to contact. It’s a game of chance when it comes down to it, and with my bad luck, even if I did find her she’d shoot me down.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” cooed Marinette, resting a glove-covered hand on his shoulder. As he spun, they locked eyes and her bright blue orbs said everything along with her words: “You’re kind-hearted, loving and sweet. How could she resist?”

Before he knew it, Marinette was out the door, and Adrien was left alone to reflect was what was possibly the least layered and precise advice she’d ever given him. So much so, it was almost too vague - too subtle.

All night he spend pondering her words, and all the way through the lectures he really ought to have listened to. But his heart was too far away fro his head to remain in the room and focus, and by the time he’d left home, and twilight was rolling in, Adrien’s thoughts were zoned on one, miserable point.

 _To Marinette I may be kindhearted, loving and sweet. But to Ladybug, Chat Noir is none of those_. It almost consumed him, but before he could think about the issue any further, he brushed his hair from his eyes and muttered three short words.

Soon enough, Chat Noir was dashing across the Paris rooftops with a look of sheer, pained determination in his eyes.

* * *

 

“I thought we’d agreed tonight wasn’t a patrol night?”

Ladybug spun around on the spot, almost losing her footing on the roof-tiles a she did. “We did, but I just wanted to escape my real life for a while,” she replied weakly, locking with the bright green eyes in front of her. “Anyway, you’re here, too, hypcri—”

“Similar reasoning.”

Chat Noir gave her a confused smirk, as if he didn’t know if he should be showing it to her but wanted to anyway. Looking at him, she felt herself freeze and speechless, but she couldn’t pin why.

Tonight something about his presence to her was different. The look of him was far more innocent, yet more endearing to her blue gaze. His hair sat equally as scruffy as usual, but strangely Ladybug felt the desire to run her hands through it, pushing it out of the eyes that stared at her with a look of admiration.

 _At least that’s no different_ , she told herself thankfully.

But as he took a step forward, the wind ruffling the blonde locks she longed to graze her fingertips, she could hear her earlier conversation with Adrien invading her thoughts; echoing through her mind.

_'There’s a girl…'_

Or a boy. A boy in skin-tight leather with eyes that glow greener than the luscious green grass of the country in the sunlight.

_'...sees a side of me that nobody else gets to…'_

A side that nobody else get to. Yes: her as the strong one, the hero, the one people look up; the side the boy seems to bathe in the light of.

_'...impossible to find and impossible to contact…'_

Evasive, cunning, alluring…impossible. Impossible definitely was a word you could use to describe him. To describe Chat Noir.

 _No, stop,_ she told herself firmly. But her feet still moved forward, towards him, and the soles of his shoes padded as he closed a little more distance, slowly.

“Chat,” she let slip. “Have you ever let your feelings in your civilian life and this one get so incredibly muddled that you’re not sure how to feel at all anymore?”

The look in his eyes told her that, momentarily, the devilish cat was taken aback, but whilst the innocence on his face remained a smirk grew alongside it.

“I can safely say I haven’t yet, my Lady.” His voice was smooth, like melted chocolate, and she wanted to soak it up for the first time in their partnership.

“You’re lucky,” she told him. “Don’t do it. It hurts.”

Chat’s foot made a roof-tile wobble, and his heart soared like the birds that flew above them. The gap between him and Ladybug now was far smaller, and decreasing much to his pleasure. However, her knees quaked with fear so much, she worried her clumsiness might take her over.

The space between them now was a mere twelve inches, and Ladybug had to crane her neck just to focus on the sight she craved most. Chat had grown considerably taller over the last five years, but still remained to stare at her like she was the brightest light in the whole of Paris. The obscure angle her head was at felt uncomfortable, Chat could tell, and how he craved to grab her and pull her close to him - it was an unbearable want.

And fortunately he didn’t need to bare it for much longer.

Taken completely by surprise, Chat found his cheeks grabbed and pulled down to meet half-way, followed by a sensation he’d only imagined for years. Ladybug’s lips pressed against his with such slow and gentle passion. The needy cat hesitated to kiss her back, for he knew that when he did his body would take over, and he wouldn’t be able to control himself and the things he wanted, but stood, relishing the taste of her lips as his hands found their way to the curve of her waist.

Suddenly she stopped. Her breath danced teasingly against his mouth, and he was grateful for her confidence. She knew he wouldn’t refuse what he’d after all this time, and was just waiting for the response she knew would happen.

“What’re you waiting for, you _pussy_?” she whispered, smiling against his lips.

It was no surprise that the terrible pun is what got him started.

Following the gruff - and in Ladybug’s opinion very sexy - laugh he gave, Chat pulled her body right up against his, feeling the curves of her body press against him in all the places he’d wished for. He kissed her with the fiercest passion, that which had built up inside him from the moment he’d first watch her save him and the people that surrounded them.

Although it went on for minutes, past the point of being out of breath and shaky, the feeling of kissing Ladybug didn’t last long enough for him before she pulled away. The tears that welled in her eyes when she looked up broke him, but somehow he didn’t feel the need to question it, because he felt it, too, just as she did.

The regret. The _sickening_ regret and knowing of the mistake they’d both just made. As he watched her run from his arms and make her way back to her normal life, he didn’t reach for her or turn to follow her figure’s movements. He simply sighed. And with that sigh he understood why they’d hadn’t done this before, and why she was so confused in the way she felt.

He, too, was now muddled.

As Adrien Agreste he was a young man with ambitions he could probably achieve and friends who he adored beyond belief, one of whom that he adored even more. Adrien Agreste had a truly stable and happy life.

But Chat Noir? _His_  heart belonged to an unknown masked figure who donned polka-dots with a fiery step. And, sad as it was, he knew all the passion he held inside him was too much to give to a girl who he would never know the true name of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I do proof-read, I'm known for being awful at it, so if I've written anything wrong or made mistakes please let me know and I will sort it. Thanks, and I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warn now that this chapter has suggestive sexual content, but it is nothing explicit, graphic or rude. I really love this chapter it was so much fun to write, so I hope you all like it, too. I'll be updating tags as I go along with each chapter.

In Marinette’s opinion she couldn’t speed home and through the partially open window of her fifth floor apartment fast enough, not after what she’d just done as Ladybug.

Her life, for as long as she could remember, had been a series of stumbles and trips over issues that always blew up in her face. Somehow, through no fault of her own, she’d been cursed with the clumsiness of half the girls in Paris put together, and she couldn’t remember a car that hadn’t driven through a puddle and splashed up her body when it had rained.

And they said ladybug’s were meant to be lucky. Marinette proved that so unbelievably wrong she wanted to edit the history books.

As Ladybug, she’d made the biggest blunder, the biggest and most clumsy action of all. How in the world was that _lucky_?

She slid through the window and slammed it shut, feeling the weak plastic it was held by shudder at the feel of such force, and quickly she felt her eyes grow heavy. Since the moment she’d pulled away the tears had welled and fallen, and now that there was no hero’s mask to hide behind she only wanted to cry more. Poor Marinette wanted to close her eyes; block out the world and all thoughts of the issue at hand. But every time she shut them, and stared into the blackness he would appear - Chat Noir - reminding her of her dreadful mistake.

What was worst was that it wasn’t a mistake she hadn’t thought through. It wasn’t like when you slip up on the ice because you don’t realise the soles of your shoes aren’t harsh enough to stand it. No, she’d thought about it much earlier than she would ever admit to Chat - long before she looked at him on that roof tonight and thought on Adrien’s words from the day before.

She knew as she’d stepped closer to him and with every perfect, passionate kiss that night, the ice had grown thinner and more slippery beneath her feet. There was no doubt that the soles of her shoes weren’t grippy enough to stomach the dilemma she strode across too confidently, but still she went.

And here she was now: fallen on her ass once her balanced had vanished, on the ice with cold and regret rushing through her veins because she _knew_  it was _her_  mistake, and hers alone.

“Marinette,” whispered Tikki’s soft voice, trying to break through the waterfall of tears, “it’s okay. Please stop crying.”

Marinette knew the little kwami meant only to help, but she could feel the ice slowly cracking beneath her. Any minute she’d fall through and drown in the frozen lake of her own guilt.

_Crack…_

“Please. Get some food, a blanket…try not to think about things.”

_Crack…_

She shivered, shuffling to the bed almost lifeless. It took all her will-power to lift her arm and mop up the tears on her cheeks, as if they wouldn’t be replaced moments later. “I can’t just not think about it, Tikki.”

_Crack…_

Her arms hugged her knees tight to keep in as much warmth as she should. “I know if it was _his_  fault I wouldn’t be like this But, thing is, _I_  know better. I knew that it was a bad idea and still I initiated it…the kiss.”

_Crack…_

Tikki floated in front of her face. “But how did it feel?”

_Crack…_

“Absolutely brilliant.”

_Crack._

All of it came crashing down with the admittance of how right kissing him was to her; with how good the doing of a bad deed felt in the moment. Why was it being bad felt so good?

But at the same time: no, it didn’t. She was feeling bad, but not bad enough. That little flicker of gladness deep within her that she’d done it made her feel even worse.

None of it made sense to her - how she was feeling or what she was to do next. What she wanted was to curl up, hide in the creases of her thick, cozy duvet and cry; cry until her system was dry and the pain had gone away the best it could…for now.

She was prepared, but then came the knock on the door.

Adrien didn’t wait for her to answer his hands pleading pounding, he bust through the unlocked door (her second huge error of the evening, forgetting to lock the door) and into the room where she sat in ruins. 

From what she could see, he too was a state. His green eyes watered at the edges, blood-shot and showing the remnants of forcing back tears. Lips were parted and soon hers did the same with a gasp, her posture almost smoothed out as she let her worry for him join her guilt.

 _Almost_.

“Adrien,” she whispered, her voice gentle and shaky, but that’s all she could manage.

Quickly he strode the few metres towards her and clambered onto the mattress, pulling his best friend into his arms in a hug they both needed more than air. She revelled in the touch of his hands on her bare shoulders, and felt a sudden rush of gratefulness in her heart, feeling his affection seep through into her body. Despite her disgust in herself she felt appreciated, and that maybe she wanted all bad after all.

Weren’t it for her experience earlier, she would’ve most certainly pushed him back just far enough to lock lips with her so she could express her strongest, but almost lost hidden attraction for him. But her mind told her no and that was for the best. A hug was what she needed, and she made the most of it.

Adrien’s heart was pounding from all the running he’d done. He’d transformed only moments after hurling himself into the first lift he came across in her apartment building, and the young man was almost in as much of a state as the girl in his arms.

He hated to think what had caused this, and he knew he ought to ask, but fighting back his own tears was enough trouble on it’s own. The tears he tried not to shed were not like Marinette’s of guilt and knowing; his were of anger, sadness, and sickening realisation.

The moment Ladybug had left Chat Noir stranded on that roof, wounded by a dawning issue that he’d considered by never to it’s true extent, he knew he had but one option. He had to give up on her.

It was the last thing he wanted - he was in love with her, and his eyes lit up at the sight of that red and black pattern anywhere. However, that was Chat’s life, Ladybug’s life, not the life of Adrien Agreste of whoever was behind the mask he so wanted to rip off of her. He couldn’t do it anymore, though, and most certainly not after looking into her eyes - eyes so blue and full of sadness - when she pulled away from his embrace.

As much as it broke him Adrien knew he had to move on, and try his hardest to rid his mind of Ladybug.

That was why he was here; a reason he wouldn’t tell a soul.

The silence that hung around them, although pleasant at first, was growing unbearable to withstand, and Marinette was beginning to grow uneasy. “Why are you crying?” she asked softly. “Was it—”

“The girl I told you about?” Adrien’s tone was harsher, but still somehow a gentle hum in her ear. “Yes, it was her.”

“What did she do?”

He closed his eyes as her hand slowly caressed his back, up and down, with calming strokes that, painfully slowly, started to soothe his entire being. “She showed me the truth - that we can’t be what I wanted.”

Marinette felt her body loose all tension when the guilt she’d managed to leak a little flooded her veins once again, and when he asked her why she was so distraught, she was stumped what to say. When she finally answered, her response was feeble, but long and explained in the easiest of terms.

“There’s a guy, and he’s worshipped me since I met him, and I’ve always denied how I felt for him. But tonight I saw him and I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him; let him have what we both wanted; lead him on. And I can’t—” She gulped and took a deep breath to slow herself. “I can’t forgive myself because _I_  know things will end.”

The blonde in her arms pushed himself back, but refused to let go of what he held, deeming it far to precious to lose contact with. Adrien’s green eyes delved deep into the blue, seeing the remorseful conscience that lingered in them. Somehow, but he couldn’t place why, they were so painfully familiar - just like those he gazed at with heartbreaking daily, those he’d basked timidly in the gaze of tonight.

No! Put her out of your mind!

His conscience was right, he had to, and his body knew exactly how it wanted to do it. All it needed was to ignore his heart’s droning ache, take over his brain and utter five words.

“Marinette?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Let me kiss you.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait around for her to answer, taking the sudden spark that graced her eye as the only response he needed before he crashed his lips into hers.

Weaving his hands round her waist, he pulled her closer until she slid into his lap with her arms hooked firmly around his neck. As he took the lead, his lips moved against hers roughly and with felt like awfully passionate urgency. The feeling wasn’t different to what they’d both experienced so recently. It somehow felt as powerful and enigmatic as when they, as Chat Noir and Ladybug, had wrapped themselves in each others arms and done the very same thing.

The shock of the similarity was nearly overpowering, but the brilliance and genuine passion of their kiss wasn’t a feeling Marinette nor Adrien wanted to lose. So, simply, they just didn’t stop.

Marinette weaved her fingers neatly through his shaggy blonde locks and she started to tug gently on handfuls of it after a little while. She could feel herself beginning to melt at his every touch as his hands gently rubbed up and down her sides from the top of her torso to her lower hip. At each end, he lingered, leaving her in suspense for if he’d do more.

And he wanted to: he wanted to _so bad_. The more she pulled at his hair and absentmindedly ground her hipbones into his lower abdomen the more the need for more grew inside him and beneath where she sat.

She could feel it, and it made her heart race with the same need he held.

Then suddenly his thumb got stuck beneath the hem of her t-shirt, brushing it up a few inches, and she couldn’t take it any longer. The garment came off in one swift motion, breaking the kiss but only strengthening the atmosphere. He then followed in hot pursuit, throwing off his shirt.

Adrien let out a hot, needy breath as he stared at what beauty was in front of him. Her skin, like porcelain, glowed even in the poor light the bulbs in her apartment gave off, and the heat of both her and their chemistry flowed between them so heavily it cancelled out the chill from the cracks with ease. Slowly, but surely he began to trace his fingers up and down her sides once more, grazing his fingers over the sweetness of her smooth skin.

“Can I—”

“Don’t ask,” interrupted Marinette, her lust and (more so) her patience controlling her words, “just do whatever you want to.”

 _Freedom_ , he thought as his hands trailed up her torso once more, this time continuing their journey round the front of her bust. Freedom was what he lived for as Chat Noir, and here Marinette was giving it to him but as him - as Adrien. The experience couldn’t be on any better a track as far as he as concerned.

Impatient for him to continue and wanting to show the way she felt such an especially strong and electric connection with him at this moment, she reached around her back to unclasped the fabric that blocked his hands from what they wanted. But, before she could a single hand stopped her, the other still gently resting on her breast.

Adrien pressed his forehead onto hers softly, letting their noses brush and their lips feel the intoxicating warm breath of each other. “Wait,” he purred. The hand that stopped her moved up to her neck and played the ties that held her hair in her two, signature ponytails. Once her raven locks fell free, a devilish but gentle smirk spread cross his face as he gazed in awe. “You’re so beautiful…”

Marinette’s face flushed a deep red at the words that were so genuine and kind, and she ran a nervous hand through her hair. Inwardly she cursed herself for letting herself get so flustered by him, just as she used to, but she had to give some lee-way given the situation.

Gently she leant forward and brushed her lips on his once more, teasing by pulling away just before he could latch on. She kept this up, her grin widening with every wicked motion until his hands were at the back of her bra, toying with the clasp.

She reached a hand round to help him, in seconds letting the useless lingerie fall of just to be thrown aside by the lustful man in front of her. Immediately his hand flew to her bare flesh, and he kneaded it gently, their gaze still locked, as at once they both let out a soft, contented moan.

With a smile Adrien traced her jawline with one of his thumbs, and pressed his lips where it had touched shortly after. Her breaths were heavy, and showed her clear concentration on his every movement. “Marinette?” he mumbled into her ear before peppering her neck with careful kisses.

Her response was a gentle hum.

“I don’t want this to be just a mistake in your eyes, so before this goes any further…” His head dipped back from her neck so he could catch eye contact, and he nestled his free hand on the curve of her neck amongst the soft, wispy tufts of blue-black hair. “Before this goes any further promise me, _promise me_ , that you aren’t going to regret this or throw me aside afterwards and ignore?”

Marinette let her mouth fall open with astonishment at first, but those parted lips soon turned into a smile that, surprisingly, made it all the way up to her eyes. “Shush, Adrien,” she purred. “You know I’d never do such a thing, and I definitely won’t regret this or anything we do.” The blush on the apple of her cheeks intensified. “I adore you, after all…”

Before he could lose himself again in the sweet taste of her lips, Adrien made sure to savour the beauty of the smile in her eyes and the way she shone so bright because of him. He could do this to her - for her. If he wanted to he could make her feel loved, wanted, special, and he _did_  want that. More so, he needed it. The dazzle of that smile and the look in his eyes made his heart sing as though he’d saved the whole world, not just the city of Paris. Looking into the blue of her eyes which now shone like a bright sky was the most fulfilling feeling he’d ever experienced.

No, Marinette wasn’t his Ladybug, and she wasn’t a superhero, but they had a spark so incredibly similar. But most of all, she had given him in only a matter of minutes the purpose he’d been waiting for, for years.

She adored him, she’d said, and he was so delighted to be adored by her for he too adored her. The night was going so well; the mood so intense, so full of passion, admiration and fresh encounters; and the company so insanely beautiful. He felt so high in comparison to before he could almost hand up his suit tomorrow and say ‘au revoir’ to Chat Noir.

 _Almost_ , but not quite. The young man still needed the alter-ego to keep him on his toes out on the streets. But right now, in here, he had in his lap - the pair of the having needs that the other ached to meet…

It had started off a horrific mess for them both, but tonight was fast becoming, in both of their eyes, one that they never wanted to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of it? The next chapter should be up in not too long, providing I don't get weighed down with art portfolios and coursework (fun, eh?). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you soon!


	3. Chapter Three

For the fourth morning in a row, Adrien found himself waking beneath pale pink bed linen, legs locked and limbs entangled with Marinette. She lay still deeply sleeping beside him as he looked over at her through tired-eyes. It was a sight he’d now seen multiple times, but he couldn’t even begin to tire of the way it made his heart flutter.

A smile curved up the corners of his lips. They were chapped from all the kissing, but the sensitive crack that he felt as the grin increased made no difference to him. In fact, to know that this girl had kissed him so much, so roughly, that his lips were a mess made his heart beat faster in anticipation.

Marinette glowed in the sunlight that hurried in through the window, ignoring half-closed curtains that the pair had been too caught up to pay attention to. It was a spotlight for her excellence, and the way her dark hair splayed out across the pillow accentuated the soft, pale delicacy of her skin. Adrien wanted to fall back asleep and lose himself in the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo; he wanted to nestle himself snugly between those arms in a sluggish yet purposeful embrace, or maybe reposition himself behind her, and press his body against hers and run his hands across her bare torso until he lulled himself into a welcomed, calming cat-nap.

He chuckled to himself at his pun, and closed his eyes in readiness to try and snooze once again. But, just as how he’d woken up, a sound echoed through the building and rattled around his brain.

“Uh…” groaned a little voice from the table beside the bed. “She needs to shut up that dog. Fourth day running.”

Reluctantly, Adrien pried himself from Marinette’s arms, somehow managing to not wake her as he sat himself up and shot Plagg a look. However, he had to agree with the kwami - her neighbour, Mrs Mayonove’s little jack russell terrier really did need an off switch.

“Shut up. What if Marinette wakes up and sees you, Plagg?”

“Well, if you’re going to keep up this frisky business, she’ll probably figure out you’re Chat Noir eventually.”

“It’s not just ‘frisky business’,” mumbled Adrien, casting his eyes down to the sleeping figure below him. “She’s much more than that.”

Plagg groaned and rested on Adrien’s shoulder lazily. “My point still stands, kid.”

With a sigh, he hauled himself out of bed, shuffling to the kitchenette area like he had every morning to make the pair of them a cup of tea. He swung open the fridge to pull out a milk carton and flicked on the kettle simultaneously before flopping on the side. His hands went to his head a he groaned, as if pulling at the blonde locks would counteract the fast-forming headache.

“Why do you insist on calling me that anyway?” he chuckled. “I’m not a kid anymore - I’m almost twenty-one.”

“I’m over five-thousand so you’re always gonna be a kid to me. Now, more importantly—”

Adrien sighed to interrupt him and pulled the handle on the fridge. “Yes, she has cheese. It’s no camembert but you’ll have to deal with that for now.”

Plagg was only at ease when Adrien sat the block of cheese on the kitchen side for him and began munching on one corner. Although it wasn’t his first choice, cheap cheddar was still a taste the little black cat could relish.

It made Adrien chuckle to watch him, and as the kettle flicked off and he poured hot water into each of the two mugs, his eyes didn’t leave the little guy. Even if he was irritating sometimes, after so many years it was hard to imagine Plagg not being there when he woke up in the morning, greeting him or make his usual obnoxious comments about every situation. The kwami made him reek of cheese if he wasn’t careful to mask it with cologne, but he no longer cared. Without Plagg he would be lost.

Through the kitchen archway and into the bedroom he stared, leaning on the counter as he held his newly made tea to his lips. It was taking him an age to even take a sip, too distracted by the girl who lay, sprawled out in his line of sight.

Since he'd left the bed, she'd made the most of the room it opened up, stretching out her legs as she lay on her side. The linen covered her from the waist down, but to Adrien's surprise he wasn't staring at her bare chest. Rather what caught his eyes was her neck, the fluffy black hair that curled across her smooth skin. The sight made him smile, knowing that he'd kissed that area hours ago, and now got to gaze upon it without end.

His tea must’ve gone cold by the time it hit him. The sound.

His phone went mad, blaring out an alarm he'd completely forgotten about. It screamed and buzzed on the kitchen side beside him and with a start he jumped off the side, grabbing the device and rushing to shut it off. He read the message that flashed across the screen; **9:30 Lecture - Paper Deadline**.

"Look who's late again," laughed Plagg, shoving the final, tiny chunk of cheddar into his mouth and falling back into the side where Adrien had sat. "How impressed will Professor Lou be today, d'ya reckon?"

Adrien's eyes grew wide in an instant, like a doe in headlights. "He never minds providing I have a good excuse, but—"

“But 'Sir, I was up all night banging this girl I'm too scared to ask out' isn't a proper excuse."

"Exactly."

He threw on the shirt that was thrown over the back of a desk chair and the pair of jeans he'd worn last night and the night before…and would probably wear tomorrow at the rate things were going. Ready to run out the door, he threw on his plimsoles and jacket before he realised what he was about to do.

Still she slept, as she had every morning as he left. This was starting to get a little too routine - he never got to hand her the tea he made, always leaving it cold on the side for her to find a few hours later. Yes, maybe he’d still come back later and things would run as smooth as always, but it was beginning to make his stomach heavy with guilt.

“ _Hurry up_ , kid.”

Adrien sighed, rushing to the kitchen and microwaving the cold tea so maybe it could at least be luke-warm when she drunk it today. He set it down gently on the table, kissing her forehead gently before he was out the door and running to his own apartment to pick up her essay.

As the door shut with a sharp click, Tikki peered out from behind the television, her eyes wide and concerned. She knew she couldn’t say anything about what she’d seen as her miraculous holder slept peacefully - not to Adrien or Plagg, and certainly not Marinette - but the feeling inside her was so strong. Both worry and relief flooded her system, but most of all a solemn, aching sadness that the innocent girl was in the dark of who she’d truly been with for the past few nights.

When Marinette finally woke up, she set her luke-warm tea to her lips and graced Tikki with a soft, “Hey. Did you see when Adrien before he left?”

And all Tikki could do was force a smile and apologise. “No, sorry.”

Lying ached in her heart, but not as much as the truth would ruin Marinette’s train of thought for what could be an awfully long time.

A short, simple text flashed across Marinette’s phone screen. Smiling from the surprising warmth of the tea, she jumped and checked the message with haste, hoping the words were from him.

**> sorry about this morning. meet at 11**

>>where??

She replied to him mortifyingly fast, causing her face to flush and Tikki’s giggle to ring out through the little apartment. Things were going back to the immature days of her teens, only with sex and the possibility for even more embarrassment, and Marinette wasn’t she liked the sound of that.

**> physics block entrance**

>>not the lab?

**> no, the block.**

>> okay

Tikki’s nerves writhed and wriggled inside her as if she was preparing to vomit. All she could hope was he let her in on his little secret - that way she wouldn’t have to keep it for much longer.

It was hard enough to hold it in when Marinette asked where all the cheese had gone?

* * *

 

The double doors Adrien pushed required the strength of him and three others. Every time he walked through them he wished he did so as Chat Noir and it would all be easier, except maybe the gravity of how hard the course he’d opted for was.

 _Ha, physics pun_ , he laughed inwardly.

Still, putting his weight into shoving those double doors always payed off, whether it was going in and retrieving useful knowledge or - in the case of today - leaving with the promise of a lovely girl waiting to speak to him.

And waiting she was.

For once, she wasn’t late as he would’ve expected, which made him worry how long she’d been waiting. After all, he had told her eleven, and thanks to the long droning questions of one specific classmate that time had pushed to an uncomfortable eleven-twenty-two.

Fortunately, she didn’t look to agitated sat innocently on the little concrete steps that lead up to doorway, biting on her pencil in between strokes onto the little pad in front of her. Oh, how he wanted to surprise her and grin at her in that way he knew made her kiss him, but he couldn’t. He had an agenda for this meeting, one they couldn’t look past.

“Marinette!” he called out, hopping down the stairs, hoping the shock of her name didn’t frighten her too much.

Her head whipped round, the smile in her eyes rather than her face at the sight of Adrien, not that he could see that from so far away. “Hey!” replied Marinette. “You’re late!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m all over the place today, and that lecture went on and on…”

“Why weren’t you in the lab?” She cocked her head to one side as he planted his feet firmly in front of her. “Wednesday is lab day, right?”

Adrien felt himself smile slightly at the fact she knew his lecture timetable better than he did, aside from the odd reschedule or change of location. Although it was odd, he felt it almost cute - as if she cared and wanted to know more about him.

If he’d have said that aloud, he knew could almost hear Plagg roll his eyes, and the grunt of one word: “Desperate.”

He couldn’t deny it either. He was so, unbelievably desperate.

“It is, but Lou and his mate were playing about in their last night. Apparently they smashed out the windows.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

It was Marinette’s turn for the corners of her lips to turn up. Every time she spoke to Adrien he seemed to have a new story about his physics professor, Lou, and it grown past the point she wanted to meet the man. He’d turned twenty-seven only a few weeks ago, but was possibly the most intelligent of all the science professors at their university, especially for being so young in comparison. But, aside from that, he sounded like tremendous fun in Marinette’s opinion.

Adrien would always chirp and grin about the jokes he’d told that day in class, or the things he’d said he’d done over the weekend. Everything was extravagant with Lou, and he’d taken his class out for many a pint according to Adrien. Hearing about him made her wish her own professor (or “guide” as he preferred to be known as) was a little younger or more relatable.

The old guy was lovely, but he was no Professor Lou. He painted intricate pictures of landscapes and ladies, and told innocent middle-aged jokes every now and then with a gentle smile. Never in a million years would her class have to move from one studio to another because he’d ‘smashed out the windows’.

Marinette slung her bag over her shoulder, readying herself to leave. “You’ll have to let me meet him soon,” she giggled, “but for now - why are we meeting?”

She watched the grin slip down Adrien’s face at the question, and her brow immediately furrowed. Sweet as he looked with his lip unconsciously and worriedly stuck between his front teeth, the prospect of something urgently being up between them made her almost regretful for turning up.

“I think we need to talk about where we go from he—”

“Can we go back to yours instead?” interrupted Marinette weakly.

As she expected, Adrien shook his head firmly in response. “We’ve been avoiding this for the last few days. If we do that, we’ll just have sex and forget this conversation again.”

“But I’d much prefer sex to this conversation.”

“You and me both.” Adrien’s voice was soft, and he tapped her shoulder, motioning for her to follow him down the remaining steps and down a road.

Silently, she obeyed, remaining silent for most of the walk down their current street.

“Mari?”

Although his voice was as weak as her will to co-operate, her concern was strong. She didn’t want to talk about where things would go between them now that they’d spent four nights as a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. Clearly to go back to being such close friends just as they were would be an improbable struggle, and one that she was worried he’d suggest.

However attractive he found her, she was still just little Marinette; that girl who stumbles on her words and always manages to fall over on a slippery floor even when a sign tells her to be cautious; that girl who chose to study art and design at university and lived in what she was sure was the scabbiest flat Adrien would’ve ever visited; that girl who he knew fancied the crap out of him, but - even if he did fancy her back - wasn’t at all what he needed to make him the best he could be.

“Come on, Marinette. We can’t just keep doing this forever - I need to know whether or not I should get attached.”

 _Should._  For some reason the word stuck out to her. If he _should_  get attached, as if it was obligatory and he didn’t have a choice. As if he was forced and had no choice of how he was to feel.

The last thing she wanted to do was force him to feel something for her. If he felt anything, she wanted it to be real, genuine, not some charade to make her happy or just because they slept at each others side each night.

 _You_ can _get attached if you want to,_  she told him in her head, _but_ should _you? No._

Marinette shook her head, laughing humourlessly to hide the solemn feeling that cloaked her. “No, you don’t need to. It’s cool.”

“What? To just have sex with no meaning?”

Awkwardly, she nodded. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Adrien said, uncomfortably twiddling his thumbs. His head jolted to face forward again. “Actually I think that we should just—”

“Crossiants!” Marinette suddenly yelled, grabbing the wrist of the confused blonde and pointing to what was directly ahead of them. “I mean, food. No, I mean, bake. Oh, no, I mean bakery - my bakery. Well, parents bakery. _My_ parents, that is.”

Adrien shot a look of concern and disbelief her way, but the amusement was clear in his features behind it all.

“Look, let’s talk about it once we’ve got some food,” sighed the blushing girl. “I promise I won’t back out or change subject then. I’ll pay. Please?”

Agreeing with a slow nod and a kind, warm smile, Adrien chuckled. “Go on then. But, you’re not paying.”

“Adrien, let me pay for you.”

“Not a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was okay. It wasn't a very exciting chapter, I know, but the next one should be a lot sweeter :) I hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for a little Tom and Sabine, and a good helping off fluffy Adrinette

Marinette held her breath as she made the minute long journey up the street, side by side with the person she’d promised herself she would never let make her a huge bundle of unwanted emotions ever again. Her heart beat fast and methodically, and she only wished that such consistency would work in her brain, too.

But no; all her thoughts were muddled, all her feeling, all her worries.

 _Stop_ , she told herself. _You’re overthinking again._

And she was. The only thing she needed to concentrate on right now was what pastries she wanted to scrounge from her parents. But by the time she’d shuffled through the little wooden door, heard the bell call out and had taken in the sweet scent of the fresh goods, she hadn’t even thought on the decision yet. She wasn’t even prepared for when her father popped his head round the door to greet the pair of them.

“Marinette!” he chimed. “Sabine, Marinette’s come to visit!”

Petrified, the girl jumped back, grabbing onto Adrien’s hand instinctively as she stared at the older man. It took her a while to catch her breath, almost as long as it took her to recover from the previous night’s activities…

 _Good God, Marinette, don’t think things like that. And most certainly don’t say that out loud—Adrien won’t_ ever _let you live it down._

Speaking of Adrien, she felt a squeeze on her hand, and realised how tightly she was clinging to him. With an apologetic, sheepish grin, she cast her eyes to look at him for a moment, loosening her grip to let go.

He didn’t.

Tom Dupain strode forward, beaming at his daughter and the blonde beside her. Still talking to his wife he called, “Oh and she’s brought…”

“Adrien,” prompted the young man with a chuckle. “It’s brilliant to see you again Mr. Dupain—it’s been years.”

“You, too!”

“Not really _years_ ,” Marinette corrected, still staring at Adrien in shock. Although he was too focussed on her father to pay attention to her, she looked up and down from his eyes to his hands, back to his eyes. 

Why wouldn’t he let go?

She didn’t really mind if he held her hand: in fact she adored the sensation it gave her, and the way his freezing cold touch calmed the heat of her burning blush. The problem was why? He was talking mere moments ago of how things were confusing enough as it was, and here he was, grabbing hold of her—in front of her father, no less—and refusing to let go.

“Maybe not years,” Tom chuckled, “but it seems as though a lot has happened. How are you both?”

“We’re just _dandy_ ,” replied Adrien, squeezing her hand as if to console her.

Frankly it just made her head spin more and more. _Dandy_. Who uses that word anymore? But for some reason, the strangeness and surprise of it made her heart flutter and brain scatter further.

Before Tom could talk more and cause further mortification to his daughter, Sabine strolled in, her hands heavily dusted with flour and a glistening white smile on her face. Her eyes widened as she saw Adrien, just as one would expect, but the shock quickly turned into one of mild irritation.

She groaned. “How much was it?”

“Twenty euros,” her husband said with a smile, wrapping an arm around her small frame. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

“Well, I agreed. I just thought it’d take longer.”

Marinette cringed inwardly, immediately releasing her grin on Adrien’s palm entirely. Her parents, although she loved them and knew they meant well, always managed to worm their way into situations, and often make conversations more awkward. Now, they were about to make the conversation that was to follow, a lot harder to stomach.

She lifted her hand, blushing darker than the red velvet cake that sat atop the counter beside her. “Mum, Dad, we aren’t—”

“Neither of us are particularly good with words, Ms. Cheng. So I thought it would take longer, too.” Adrien’s voice was smooth and charismatic, but held that obvious nervous tinge you’d expect from a young man talking to his girlfriend’s parents. Difference here was that they weren’t that. To Adrien, they were nothing more than two bakers; the parents of that girl he’s been sleeping with.

He was going to get slapped at this rate, if Marinette could man up enough to do it.

Adrien’s vision started to go blurry once he realised the hole he’d dug. He's spoken so few words, but already the hole was deep enough to trap them both if he said merely a word more. If he wanted to stop Marinette’s blushing—and what was fast becoming his own—he knew they had to leave quickly.

Faster than if his miraculous was running out of time, Adrien bought four croissants and dragged Marinette out of the door, luckily avoiding any more awkward white lies and scarcely missing out on the money exchange between her parents.

With a smile, Adrien finally dropped her hand. He dug his fist into the paper bag in his other hand, only for it to reappear with the buttered pastry. “They bet on us getting together,” he said. “You’ve got to admit that’s kind of sweet.”

Marinette snatched it from his fingertips, taking a huge bite. “They made that bet the day you came round the house.”

“What?”

“You know, when we played Ultimate Mega Strike III?” Her tone was dreary, clearly irritated, but he tried his best to ignore the grouchiness that emanated from her.

“Wow, that was years ago.”

“Mhm.”

Adrien chuckled and took a croissant for himself, but he couldn’t kid himself for long. Step after step, her face went further from stone cold to sullen. He would’ve preferred her to be angry, but each time he looked up she looked more upset than anything else, and that wasn’t something he wanted to see.

Cautiously, his hand rested over her back. “Marinette, have I—”

“Why did you embarrass me like that?” she snapped.

It threw him back. Maybe her anger hadn’t subsided after all, just vanished from her expression and slid back to her voice-box.

“You must think that’s funny, Adrien, but do you know how hard it’s going to be for me to explain myself?” She laughed humourlessly, ripping apart the pastry in her hand and stuffing it into her cheeks. Clearly she didn’t care about speaking to him with her mouthful whilst in such a state of annoyance. “I mean, I’ve fancied you for years, and they know that. More than anything I’m going to get a horrible amount of sympathy from them. I don’t want sympathy, Adrien—I’m not a fucking puppy!”

Adrien stared at her gormlessly, shocked to a halt by her sharp tone and angry response. He felt it almost too hard to respond, instead standing still for a few moments as she strode ahead of him until what he hoped wasn’t the wrong question came from him.

“You’ve fancied me for years?”

She stopped, visibly sighing in response. “Well, yes. I mean, um…when we younger I had the biggest crush on you. For a while it subsided, but…”

Something about the way her eyes looked at him as she turned around made Adrien’s brain turn to mush, but at the same time he felt so intrigued and awake at her half-assed response to his question.

“But what?”

“I think you know what, Adrien.”

“Marinette,” he said firmly, but gentle, taking the few strides forward to get closer to her, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I don’t want to say it. I…I don’t want to emb-barrass myself. Not anymore.”

Adrien bit down on his bottom lip softly as he raised one hand to her jawline. Slowly he lifted her chin up, encouraging her to raise her saddened gaze to meet his. “Mari?” he whispered. He slid the paper bag he held into his jacket pocket and rested his palm against the softness her cheek. “Would it help if I did something first?”

Blue eyes finally looked up, acknowledging the glimmering green that shone down on her like she was basking in the brightest light of a full moon. “That would depend on what you did.”

Carefully, Adrien tilted his head down, moving ever closer towards her with slightly parted lips, but only a few centimetres away he felt himself frozen. Not because she had stopped him, or even shown one sign of discomfort. It was simply because of what he saw when he looked into those eyes; directly in front of him and filled with confusion and what he thought might even be longing.

Oh, how he wanted it to be longing!

But what if it wasn’t?

Maybe it was too feeble of him, but the chivalrous side of the young man made him physically unable to kiss her. As much as he yearned again for the gentle feeling of her lips brushing against his, and holding her hot, blushing cheeks in his hands, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was stupid; he’d had sex with her, multiple times—more than once each night, too! This should not have been a problem for him.

Still, instead of closing the tiniest distance between their mouths, Adrien continued to gaze directly into her eyes, waiting for a visual sign that she, too, wanted this as much as he did. Without her permission, he would just remain here forever.

Then she said it, and the way her whisper danced across his longing lips sent a rush of heat surging through his body. His heart began to flip—over and over, filled with constant flutters—and the biggest grin sprouted on his face.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me, then?”

He wasted no time in pulling her in closer and gently resting his lips on hers, still taut with a cheeky smile. Marinette’s response was nothing short of eager, but remained soft and careful, as if making up for the countless sloppy kisses that they’d shared before this moment. She could feel her heart swelling as it beat hard against her—panicked like a drummer with no rhythm.

In unison they tore themselves away, but contact was not broken. Adrien rested his forehead on hers and smiled at the feeling of her silky black bangs against his forehead. Whilst his eyes remained shut for a moment, hers were wide and alive, and she took in the look of pure joy on his expression and the sweetness of his smile as though his happiness was water and she was parched.

When those green eyes fluttered open and locked onto hers, she felt her own parted lips form a grin. The feelings that rocketed through her body never stopped flying about, but every single twitch and shiver across the back of her neck left her with one thought.

 _That_  should’ve been their first kiss.

“I don’t want me and you, I mean, _this_ , like what we have to just be, um, me and you, er…sex.”

Marinette grinned a little wider, a giggle in her voice as she replied to the blushing boy in front of her. “Wow, Mister Charisma has lost his cool.” Her hand traced down his jaw to hold the side of his neck as she fiddled with his shirt collar. “He’s just made a bit of a fool of himself, frankly.”

“He has,” said Adrien through the embarrassment and soft chuckles, “but if he asked you if you felt the same, what would you say?”

“I’d tell him to stop talking about himself in the third person because it’s _really_  lame.”

As he laughed the blonde pulled himself slightly away, taking her hands in his and taking a deep breath once he’d finished. “Mari, can we be more than…than whatever we are right now?”

“Are you asking me if I’ll date you?”

Adrien nodded profusely, but his eyes were littered with the fear of rejection. It was a look Marinette was all to familiar with, but usually from another pair of green eyes, and was received from behind a dotted mask.

She answered him with her lips on his cheekbone and her arms tied snugly around his neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was a little bit shorter than usual, but this was the easiest place to cut it off.  
> Also, Adrien's use of the word "dandy" made me super happy for some reason. I am definitely making that a thing.  
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this story. Let me know what you think/want :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we witness a little skip, some Gabriel and a 'twinge' of self doubt. Enjoy <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno if "face like a bag of spanners" is just a british term (cause I'm british and say it all the time). Just to clarify it usually means "ugly", but in this context it's not quite that. You'll probably get it when you read it (sorry if you don't lol)

Life for the several months that followed felt impossible to top. Almost every day he would be able to see her, and hold her in his arms as more than just a comforting friend; he could wake up in the middle of the night to a call from her, and listen to her sweet, innocent voice down the phone line rant to him. Or, if she was upset, he could warrant use of the key she’d leant him, and pry open her front door with a soft creak so he could slide in beside her to hold her tight until her worries subsided.

He was on a journey and the only way ahead appeared to be up.

One of Adrien’s favourite things was how he was allowed to sit on her bed and pretend to read whilst really he was watching her sketch only a few metres away. She was so lost in her imagination and the endless lines of pen and pencil that she’d never even notice that he got to admire her putting her heart and soul into what she loved.

Sometimes, if he was especially lucky, she would come round his and they would re-live one of his fondest childhood memories. His arms would engulf her and his chin would rest on the top of her head as he poised himself with a controller in his hands. Marinette would lean back into his body, usually too focussed on the joysticks her fingers twiddled rather than the kisses that he peppered against her neck.

Rarely would she let him win, and when she did it was only in favour of the kisses she received afterwards, and the joyful smile he wore that set off a feeling within her she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—fight.

It was safe to say that the time they’d been together felt like seven years rather than seven months, as they felt so at home with each other they might as well have lived on top of one another since their first ever meeting. However, that didn’t change how new he was to everything, even seven months in.

Adrien was no stranger to girls fawning over him, leaving things for him and sending him mail he’d rather not receive, but relationships were still something completely foreign aside from the time he’d spent with Marinette. He’d got better, sure, and the letters and the fans (though decreasing in numbers) stood their ground annoyingly firmly.

For some reason, he had thought that the moment he told his father that was it for his modelling that he’d be safe to work solely on his PhD and live his life privately, but that was far from the case. Especially since he’d been roped into doing the odd shoot for Gabriel every now and then.

Today was one of those days—a day he both relished and loathed for opposing reasons: he had to revert back to his teenage self for the camera, but at least he got to spend some proper time with his father.

So here he was now, sat on the plush leather sofa of the living room he’d grown up sprawled out on every other day after a ‘particularly tiring fencing lesson’ (a.k.a an akuma attack), and sipping from the tackiest mug his father owned just to spite him.

Gabriel sat across from him, pencil dashing from one corner of his sketch book to the next before sweeping back to erase his steps and try again. His already white-blonde hair was greying further every time his son saw him, but Adrien never made a comment. He simply sat back, very casually and commonly, watching as his father did his thing.

 _Maybe_  in a few minutes Gabriel might strike up a snappy conversation about scarves or bowler hats, but until then Adrien was bored, and he, quite honestly, couldn’t give any less of a shit about what colours the models would parade down the runway in the next few months.

“So are you excited?” asked the young man, hooking his foot over his knee in a very laddish position as he took a sip of his coffee.

Gabriel frowned, not looking up. “For what, exactly?”

“To meet her.”

“Meet who?”

“Marinette.”

“Who?”

“ _Marinette_ , Father,” he said matter-of-factly. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief at his old man, shaking his head with a hopeless smile. “My girlfriend. I told you she’d be joining us for dinner later.”

Letting out a tremendous sigh, the older gent looked up from his sketch book before setting down the pencil and pad onto the coffee table in front of him. He immediately picked up his tea, taking a sip whilst he pondered his answer.

“Ah, yes. The baker’s daughter, right?”

“The _art student_ , yes,” snapped back Adrien.

Adrien’s protective side was beginning to kick in. He hated the way whenever he mentioned Marinette to his father he would make some low-key, snide comment on her parents profession or social rank. Usually it would be some almost unintentional slip of the tongue about him paying for everything, or how bored Adrien must be of bread, but when Gabriel over-stepped the mark, his son wasn’t afraid to let his Chat side shine and defend the woman he adored.

In response to his son’s sharp tone, Gabriel fell back, still poised and looking ready to stand his ground as he chuckled. “Careful; I used to be an art student, too. Well, technically speaking I was a design student. I had real aspirations—”

“You’re on thin ice now, Father. I can’t allow you to speak about her like that. Especially not while she’s here later on.”

Gabriel shook his head, smirking. “Don’t fret, son.”

It was strange. Adrien had always assumed his father had no sense of humour, and quite rightly so. The man’s natural face was so miserable it almost looked like a jazzed up bag of spanners—oddly beautiful, but sharp and manipulative; that had always been the case since Adrien’s mother had left. So seeing him smile, smirk, express joy through his facial expressions was a sight the student was still learning to cope with.

_Father’s ‘humour’ was twisted and at the expense of others; namely Marinette’s, so I’ve got to make sure she doesn’t listen to him._

He checked his watch. Ten-to-five. She was to arrive at six, only seventy minutes away, which for him was just a challenge to see how much he could distract his father from every ‘joke’ he made about her. Downing the last of his coffee, he dropped his leg, tapping it against the wooden floors anxiously, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t notice too much.

“So, Father: tell me your current opinion on bowler hats…”

* * *

 

"Fantastic. Just fantastic…”

Marinette sighed, falling back into her chair in dismay. Paint dots of all different colours littered her hands and smeared up her wrists, and if that wasn't bad enough, her palette was upturned and on the floor at her feet.

Being clumsy and working with paint so often really wasn't a good mix.

Nervously, she lifted her head to look at the catastrophe in front of her—the canvas she'd spend all of the last three days sketching on and painting, wrecked and ruined by one single twinge of her ankle, leading to a fall that changed it all for the worse.

Originally the piece was meant to be a man; a young man stationed with his arms spread wide atop a building with the beautiful sparkling lights of Paris in the background of his slender figure. The shapes were perfectly proportioned and based off an image she had taken of Adrien in his white coat one night on the roof of his apartment block.

He'd got out of class late and ran to try and find her, the lab coat he was obliged to wear flapping in the wind as he bolted into view from where in the park she sat. Stationed there, although far away, she could see the fire set light in his eyes as he zoomed towards her and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her home with him and into his building. He was insisting that they had to get up there before the sun fully set.

And the result was a painting her professor has praised even in it’s early stages.

Then again, there was nothing to praise anymore.

Seeing her mental anguish overwhelming her, Nathanaël shuffled towards her. The two of them had been in the same class since middle school, and always found themselves thrown together in things, even here in university. He'd gotten over his crush on her—or at she least liked to think he had—and on campus the pair were stuck like glue. They knew each other and enjoyed each other's company, so why wouldn't they after all?

"What've you done then?" he chuckled, running a nervous hand through his bright hair.

Marinette didn't even answer. She just gestured at the canvas she'd been painting onto, the promising background image and the huge blur of vivid red that splat across it.

Nathanaël bit down on his lip, sitting beside her hesitantly. "Just keep it up and say it's abstract. That's what I do with mine when they go a little wrong.”

"But that's now how it was meant to be."

"Then lie."

"I'm not good at lying," she sighed. "And I only have like twenty minutes before I have to go get ready to meet—"

" _Adrien_?"

There was a hint of sadness and annoyance in his voice, but Marinette did her best to ignore it, gritting her teeth in a worried smile. "Actually, it’s his _dad_. I'm supposed to have dinner with them, but I’m not sure how to behave when—”

“When you’re having dinner with your fancy-pants-boyfriend’s family in his bloody great mansion…house…thing?”

With a look of surprise and almost irritation, Marinette kept her eyes on him as she got to her feet. “Are you ever going to let me finish my own sentences, Nath?”

He shot her a smile, picking up her brushes and palette for her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Let me clean up for you, make it up to you for being snappy, yeah?”

“Oh, no. You don’t have to do that...”

“It’s alright,” he chuckled. As he got to his feet he towered over her, but he certainly wasn’t as tall as Adrien. “You go clean up and get ready for your dinner. Good luck, Mari.”

Unsure how to respond to her friend’s impeccable kindness, she simply gave him a grin and a slight peck on the cheek, waving as she grabbed her bag and dashed out of the studio. She sped down the hall and into the nearest bathroom, proceeding to fish a make-up wipe from her bag and rid her hands, face and forearms of her painting disaster. At least she could _pretend_  to Gabriel Agreste that she hadn’t wasted her day.

_Gabriel Agreste._

The name clung to as much of her brain as it could—more than she could stomach, and she could feel her head pounding with the visions of her own mortification. Nathanaël had been right, she didn’t have a clue how to act in a restaurant when she was alone with Adrien, let alone in a house of another person who for so many years she’d looked up to.

It had been just over seven months since Adrien had kissed her down the road from her parents bakery; seven months since the two had become the couple she’d always wanted them to be. But now she was starting to freak out.

Was this long enough? Sure, Adrien had met her parents multiple times, forever ago, but that made meeting them formally as her boyfriend a whole lot easier. All he had to do was smile and wave and laugh at her dad’s stupid jokes. But Marinette didn’t get that luxury. She’d only ever spoken to Gabriel Agreste four times, and only one of those as Marinette, and it was her less exciting alter-ego that was the one that mattered here.

Now she was with Adrien, everything was so fast and so scary. It was undeniable that what they had was amazing, and that she adored him so much, but had her admiration and infatuation really got her to the point of meeting his father already?

“Seven months is a long time,” the young blonde had told her, rubbing her back to make her feel more at ease about it. Her boyfriend hadn’t forced her into anything, but he had expressed his want for them to meet formally at least once, and Marinette felt she couldn’t deny him. After all, she loved to know she was making him happy.

“I can’t do it, Tikki.”

Tikki poked her head out of Marinette’s bag, widening her eyes in surprise at the girl’s lack of faith in herself. “Of course you can—you’re Ladybug. You’re brave enough and witty enough and lovely.”

Marinette stared down at the kwami with a gentle, sad smile. “Not in front of them I won’t be. Trust me, I know.”

“Then calm down. Stop stressing before you go.”

“I can’t just stop at the click of my fingers.”

Then again, she could. She one thing that could ease her stress without a hitch was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Tikki, transformé moi!” she uttered under her breath, eyes squeezed shut to fight back her panic, before hauling herself out the window and onto the streets where the sun began to slowly dim and the streetlight’s shine grew by the second.

By the time she had reached one of her favourite spots, staring out over the Eiffel tower, Ladybug found herself caught up in an endless frenzy of anxiety and near-on impossible situations playing over and over in her brain. She thought maybe if she returned here with her blue eyes beating down over the place she’d first let herself be the courageous hero the city knew her to be, she might find solace and belief in herself.

She thought wrong.

It just made her think not of herself, her bravery, or even of Adrien, but of Chat Noir. What flooded her mind was that repeating moment of the first time, nearing on six years ago that she felt his hands grip her shoulders and heard him say he believed in her.

_Six years ago._

“Fuck seven months,” she mumbled incoherently, “ _that_  is a long time.”

Chat Noir…

They hadn’t avoided one another after the moment that complicated their entire partnership, instead they chose to just go on with their usual, everyday business. Whether it was akuma fighting or patrols, somehow it managed to stay the same, and Chat still managed to throw a smile her way every time they came into contact.

The only thing that had changed was trivial, but it felt like a major whole was slowly opening up because of it, and that was Chat’s flirting. Or, perhaps, it was more the lack of it; the total decline in the amount of inappropriate or seductive lines the leather-clad cat spouted.

Since she had a boyfriend, the very same gorgeous model boyfriend she’d fawned over on and off since age fifteen, she shouldn’t have missed it, but she did. Sometimes, when they ran into one another on a patrol, she would yearn for him to express to her even a slight portion of the affection he once had. An arm round her waist or torso, a hand on her shoulder to show the same comfort he had years ago...

Where had the old him gone? And why did she want him back so badly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it. Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading it!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some more LadyNoir for you guys and a little bit of Marichat

“Mind if I join you?”

Ladybug jumped out of the state of awe the sparkling Parisian skyline had lulled her into, whipping her head around to see her partner stood behind her. It was as if her silent thoughts were a cue for his sudden appearance, but she could tell from the darkness that cloaked them that an awful lot of time had passed since any thoughts of him had last sprung to mind.

Leaning his back against a red brick chimney, Chat Noir stared down from a couple of metres behind her. He was far away, but just close enough for her to make him out in the soft light that brushed the end of his nose and accentuated his jawline. The tight black suit he wore almost shined in places where light reflected, and the young woman found herself almost speechless. As there always used to be, there was a certain glimmer in his eyes—one Ladybug was more than grateful to see once again.

“How long have you been standing there?” she whispered, barely audible from her surprise.

Chat stepped forward with a sigh. His arms hung lifelessly at his sides until he sat down and reach round to hug his legs close to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “Not long at all. Only just got there.”

It started to become clearer that the glint in his eyes that Ladybug had seen was not of glee as she had thought and hoped, but of sadness. Shocking green eyes fell to the same area she had been staring longingly at all evening, but  his were full of desperation; the kind of distress solved only by a hearty cry and a firm hug.

But she had not once seen Chat Noir cry since she had known him, and she knew she had not the right or the courage to envelope him in the hug that she thought he needed. Instead she just looked at him, her lips slightly parted with worry, and visibly loosened her tense muscles as if that would make any kind of difference if he saw.

She sighed just as he had and looked back out over the city. “By the look of things, I’m not the only one who’s not feeling one-hundred percent tonight, am I?”

“You’re definitely not,” replied Chat.

“May I ask why that is?”

He turned his head slowly to look at her, eyes drooping with the heavy feeling of pessimism. “You'd never believe it, but it's about a girl,” he mumbled into his knees. “She stood me up and made a fool out of me in front of my father. He didn’t care, and I’m sure she must’ve got tied up and didn’t mean it, so I won’t blame her but…” Once again, his gaze drifted to the view ahead of them both. “But it doesn’t stop it hurting, you know?”

Ladybug felt herself freeze. “What’s the time, Chat?”

“It was five to nine when I last checked my watch.”

“Shit.” Adrien. Somehow, in all the panic and the twinkling lights she had lost track of time, completely forgetting the plans she’d made and the people she was meant to have seen. Immediately her eyes flew to Chat, suddenly feeling the most guilt she had in ages at the look on his face.

If Adrien was half as upset as Chat was when she saw him later then she wouldn’t know how to begin apologising. Observing the way his body curled up, as if he wanted to be consumed by his own body to rid himself of any bad thoughts, made her think only of her boyfriend.

She knew that when she watched him let out his thoughts and feelings, all she would think of was this: the shaggy blonde figure in front of her at this moment who was shrouded in darkness and disappointment. Her boyfriend would feel just as Chat did now, so Adrien might respond like he did—like this.

Of course she’d apologise profusely and beg for forgiveness, but awfully she _knew_  she wouldn’t feel as bad for him as she should—not as bad as she felt for Chat—and that made her feel way, way worse.

Ducking her head down in shame, Ladybug could feel her stomach burn with regret for the way she felt. Adrien was her boyfriend; she adored him. Wasn’t it him that she should feel the most sorry for? So why when she saw Chat upset did her heart-strings twang with that extra tinge of sadness in comparison to Adrien?

It was just the tiniest bit more…but wasn’t that still wrong?

“So are you going to say who’s wronged you?”

Her heart sank at Chat’s words, knowing it was not her who had been wronged. It was _her_  who had betrayed—not outwardly, but in her own heart—herself and the man who she treasured. Thinking about his golden hair and emerald orbs gazing at her as she woke in the morning still gave her butterflies, but try as she did to focus on that _something_  kept crawling in and clawing at her thoughts.

A great big pair of glowing green eyes and a smirk so wide and mischievous her whole body would tingle with anticipation.

Her heart was betraying her head. Strong and firm in her mind was the want for Adrien Agreste, but for some unknown reason, the yearning in her heart was for Chat Noir.

_Betrayed._

Ladybug sighed once again. “All evening I’ve been thinking, worrying, freaking out, and wondering why I’m so scared of something I know that I want so damn badly. It’s been driving me mad, but somehow in the space of a few minutes you’ve made me figure it all out.”

This made him chuckle in confusion. “But I haven’t said anything that isn’t a complaint about my own life,” he mused.

“You know what I said before I kissed you all that time ago?”

“About getting your feelings as a civilian and as Ladybug—”

“Muddled,” she interrupted. “Yeah, thats it. I’ve done it again.”

Slowly Chat twisted his head to look at her, taking in the worried and ashamed look in her eyes as she stared back at him. He watched as her lips fumbled, searching for words but none of them surfacing with the confidence to make a sound. It made him feel worried and want to help her, but at the same time he didn’t want to interfere and throw her life into even more disorder than he already had.

“I have a boyfriend,” she told him, her tone low and sincere, “and I adore him. He is absolutely perfect—a proper nerd but he’s kind, loving and gorgeous on top of all of that. I really thought he was everything I‘ve ever wanted, but I suppose I thought wrong.” Tears started to well in the corners of her eyes, causing her to crinkle them and look away for a moment to compose herself. When she next spoke, Ladybug’s voice was high; cracking and desperate. “’Cause then you come along with your handsome smirking and your so, stupidly dumb puns and you somehow make me question my ever movement, Chat.”

The black-suited man sat still, glued to the roof tiles he rested on with not just shock but the mortification that she exuded as she looked at him. Swimming in her eyes was a confused sadness, but also something he knew he gave his girlfriend, his Marinette—that look of unimaginable longing.

It made him guilty to watch her cry and feel too scared to lay a hand on her in case it gave off the wrong impression, but trying to comfort her would be too much of a struggle for him. Instead, he hummed softly, and let out a gentle, “Oh.” As if that was enough to console her, he turned his head to stare back out at the Eiffel Tower, ignoring any awkwardness that clung to the pair of them.

“How did you stop loving me?”

Now, _that_  was something he couldn’t ignore. However, it was something he didn’t really know the answer to either.

He raised his head cautiously, scanning her expression as quick as he could only to register it unchanged.

“Please,” she begged. Sluggishly she hauled her body around to face him. “I need to know.”

Without even thinking, he mimicked her but at twice the speed. Knitting his eyebrows together he reached out and held her hand, all the time his brain inwardly screaming at him to stop, but for some reason his fingers wouldn’t halt or loosen the grip they were clamping on hers. Even through the fabric of her suit, Chat could feel the warmth she gave off, and the way it heated his freezing cold fingers made him all the susceptive to his feeling rather than his thoughts.

“Did you just find someone new, Chat? Or was there something else that made you stop? _Please_.”

Chat sighed, shuffling forward a little and entwining his fingers with her, and all Ladybug could think of was the shattering rejection she’d feel after the honest answer he gave her. She knew that—no matter the circumstances—Chat Noir would not lie to her about anything bar his civilian identity. But then again she did the same as that was what they had agreed.

He started to lean towards her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, and although she tried it was impossible to ignore the way her shoulders tensed up as he moved in. Her lips parted and her eyes focussed on his more and more until he was so close the image of her partner was just a blur of green and blonde.

“Honestly?" He paused, expecting for the answer of silence he received. "Deep down, I don’t think I ever _stopped_ …”

This time it was his fault, his mistake; Chat Noir’s mistake that Adrien would carry the shame of with him. He didn’t know why and he knew it was wrong, but that didn’t stop him. He still, completely by choice, let his lips melt against Ladybug’s, moving in the most passionate and delicate motions. It was so familiar yet so foreign; so wrong yet so exciting.

But the kiss didn’t even last long enough to justify the sheer mass of shame he felt drag him down as he pulled away, mumbling to himself in regret as he darted off into the night, leaving Ladybug alone on the roof as he’d found her and even more messed up than before.

* * *

 

When Chat reached Marinette’s window he was imagining her to be there, probably leant over her designs and snoozing as he’d found her in the past at night. So it was safe to say he was surprised when, upon arrival, all lights were off and she was nowhere to be found, he was struck with confusion. Sure, he hadn’t come here to speak to her—merely hide in the shadows out of sight and check she was okay—but her lack of attendance worried him.

First she’d missed dinner with him and his father, and now she wasn’t home at almost ten-thirty. Behind the mask, Adrien was starting to freak out.

What if she’d got lost, been assaulted or got kidnapped by some lowlife in an alleyway on her way home from class that day? Or what if she’d just decided she needed to up and leave without saying goodbye to him, with no warning or apology or explanation left behind?

Then again, he had gone and betrayed her as his alter-ego—he was hardly a righteous man.

 _Click_.

The latch of her door snapped and Chat’s heart leaped from where he perched peering into her apartment. Through it he could see the bed where he’d spent so many nights and ‘read’ so many books as he watched her. He could see the kettle through the archway that he’d boiled endless times with a smile on his face after listening to her morning groans and pleas for hot tea.

But the best view now was the girl who dragged herself through the door, clearly knackered and not too upbeat, but still in the dim light of energy saving bulbs her messy hair shone and her skin glistened the softest shade of porcelain. Her big blue eyes, beautiful and flawless, were bloodshot, possibly from tiredness and wear.

And they were staring right at him.

 _So much for hiding in the shadows_ , he thought. With a sheepish grin he rubbed the back of his neck, tapping his fingertips on the window pane.

Marinette shuffled towards him with a huff and a frown. Her shoulders drooped and feet barely lifted off the ground as she moved closer, eventually grabbing hold of the window and pulling it up as much as she could.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice showing no real interest, and holding an element of sadness.

Slithering through the gap in the window, Chat bit down on his lip. He widened his grin, as if that would make her any happier, but instead she just sighed and stepped away. “I, um…”

“You, um, _what_?” Her voice was quick and snappy, shocking for someone who currently looked like a gorgeous dead girl walking.

“I was asked to check on you…by Adrien Agreste?”

She froze and spun around again. “Adrien sent you?”

“Indeed he did,” he smirked. “Wanted me to make sure you were alright. Lucky man, he is, for scoring you Purr-incess.”

Wincing she turned her back to him again. “I have a boyfriend, you dumb cat.”

“And _I_  have a girlfriend.”

The laugh Marinette gave as she turned around was evil; more like a deep chuckle than the sweet giggle you’d usually expect from her. To Adrien, however, this chuckle was nothing new.

“Oh, really?” she asked him skeptically. “I don’t believe you.”

“Seriously, I do.”

“No.”

“Yes. Frankly, I think I’m in love with her.”

Inwardly, Chat slapped himself. Why couldn’t he just admit that to her when he was Adrien? Why did all his confidence as Cat suddenly vanish once the mask was off his face?

Again, Marinette said, “No.” Her voice was firm; more authoritative and dominating than the surprise she’d shown at first.

“Is that a purr-oblem for you, Princess?”

“Stop it.”

“Marinette,” he corrected with a grin. “Seriously, what’s got you so worked up? School?”

She flopped back on her bed, groaning and rubbing her face. “If only it was just school…”

“Then what is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t just tell you,” she laughed. “It would take ages to explain.”

Chat plopped down onto the bed beside her, sitting cross legged and smiling reassuringly at her. “I can read between the lines, and I’ve got all night. I insist you  at least try.”

Sighing, she sat up and grabbed a pillow, hugging it before meeting his gaze. Suddenly, she melted, and Adrien could see the way Chat Noir got his girlfriend to act. It was bolder and differently, and secretly he loved it—almost as much as the fact he could tell she thought he was hot, and that he’d be able to scrounge information that wasn’t any of his business.

Yet again, he wasn’t being righteous; he was being nosy. Then again, he was a cat and was bound to be curious.

Still, we all know how that saying goes, and boy, was it applicable to what followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. as you can probably guess, the next part will be very much Marichat. (please let me know what you think and if I missed any mistakes as I haven't proof read it more than once) <3


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which shit gets serious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super quick update - yay! This one is a little shorter than usual (1600 ish in comparison to the usual 2000 ish), but that's because I thought where it stopped was the best place to end the part. Still, I hope you enjoy it. I really loved writing it <3

"I'm stressing." Marinette squeezed the pillow tightly in her arms and bit down on her lip. “And I’ve done a bad thing.”

“I seriously doubt that.” He chuckled as he gave her a soft and genuine smile at long last. “You’re paws-itively purr-fect—”

“Please, Chat,” she interrupted with a upset, but enthused look in her eyes. “As much as I love your stupid wordplay, you asked for me to explain.”

Reluctantly, but still consoling, Chat shut up and listened to her talk. Her topics of worry ranged from school, to Adrien, to secrets she said she couldn’t share even with him; things that continued to eat away at her from the inside, out. The whole time she spoke, the young man was mystified by the girl in front of him, and every now and then—rather than listening—he found himself thinking of how he wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her it was all okay…

But by the sound of things, it wasn’t. As she waffled on and complained about university and her deadlines and her total, adorable clumsiness like she used to tell Adrien, he drifted in and out of focus. She was interesting and he _was_ interested, but at the same time she began to repeat herself after a while.

What she said about Adrien he clearly already knew; she had stood him up, she felt awful about it and that was that supposedly. Still, from the sighs and the unfinished looks in her deep blue pools Chat felt as though there was something more to this one sided discussion that she was hiding. Mostly it scared him, and he could tell it was about her boyfriend.

“So to sum up, I’m stressed out and too clumsy, possibly the worst girlfriend ever currently, and I know Adrien isn’t going to be happy with me. _That_  has to be why he sent you. Okay, well, you can tell him that I’m sorry. I know how much he wanted me and Gabriel to meet formally, but nope. I chickened out and had to stay back in class to work.”

Chat Noir reached out and wrapped his arm sympathetically around her shoulders, letting her lean her head gently on him. “I’m sure Adrien will understand, Princess. He was just pretty pissed off is all.”

“If it pisses him off so badly he sets Chat Noir on my case rather than coming himself then maybe he should just—” She stopped herself, tensing in his arms before nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Even through the leather that caked his skin, he could feel her tears seeping through.

“Just what?” he whispered. “Marinette, what were you going to say?”

“Don’t pressure me!” she snapped before continuing to sob into him.

Adrien was still learning seven months down the line how to deal with Marinette when she was upset, but she had never had the courage to spit at him quite like she would at Chat. Although he knew to just let her cry and talk, it felt wrong not to ask for her to explain herself. He didn’t want to pressure her, of course, but he also didn’t want to be left in the dark on a subject, so shadowed and unknown, he knew would haunt him at every encounter; both as Chat or Adrien.

Instead of forcing more out of her he wrapped his other arm tenderly around her torso and enforced his grip to make sure she felt safe. The response he got was only more spluttering sobs, but he could tell from the way her arms circled his waist, too, that she was beginning to feel more comfortable. Maybe she’d even feel a little calmer in a little while. After some sweet silence and the delicate kisses he so desperately wanted to give her, he _knew_ she would.

A kiss on the lips was off limits—he knew that, he wasn’t stupid—but Chat allowed himself to bury his face into her messy, raven hair. Every now and then he would press gentle kisses onto the top of her head. He would shush her after a particularly loud cry or a hitching of breath, telling her he was sorry and that everything was okay.

Everything _was_  starting to feel okay until she finally finished her sentence.

“He should just leave me…”

Under the leather and lycra, Adrien’s heart stopped beating. The mask and the ears provided no protection for the slam of her words on his thoughts and his peace of mind. “Sorry, what?” he managed to choke out.

“Maybe he should just hurry up and leave me. It’s clear we want different things and I’m not—”

“No!”

Marinette jumped back at the volume but was still only a few inches away from him, restrained by Chat’s strong arms in a possessive and powerful grip. She felt like putty in his hands while looking up at his face and deep into his eyes.

“No,” he repeated, his voice a lot softer as he wheezed out words through struggled breaths, “don’t you dare say that you’re not good enough; not again, Marinette. We’ve been through this.”

 _Have we, Chat?_  she found herself thinking. The thought took over her expressions, and allowed a slight frown to dip her brow.

To that look Chat Noir had one reaction. _Shit._

“Adrien and I have, I mean.” He tried his best to recover his mistake, and he managed to scrape an accepting look from her (by the skin of his teeth). “You can’t keep telling him or anyone that you’re not enough, because you _are_.”

A hand slid up her waist and rested on her cheek, rubbing with his thumb the sensitive skin under her eyes, still damp with tears. Without him even saying another word, her face edged closer, and it wasn’t long before he could feel her nose on his, and her hot breath dancing on his needy, wanting lips.

“You’re more than good enough for him, Marinette. He thinks you’re the most shockingly beautiful and strong woman to ever walk the planet.” Chat smirked and let his eyes flutter closed. “And I really, truly agree with him…”

Softly, Marinette whispered to him, smiling at the shiver that soared through him at her fingertip's gentle caress of his nape. “I thought you thought so of _Ladybug.._.”

“'Thought' being the past tense,” replied the young man smoothly. “Adrien Agreste is the luckiest man in the world.”

“And who ever gets to lie with Chat Noir is a very lucky girl indeed.”

His eyes flicked open.

Marinette was chatting him up. For the first time, he’d witnessed Marinette flirting in a way that Adrien had never got to see. He really ought to have noticed that she—his girlfriend, _Adrien’s_  girlfriend—was flirting so plainly with Chat Noir that it seemed she was ready to cheat on him. But the gentle touches of his neck, the way her hands pulled lightly at the blonde on the back of his head…it was too intoxicating to pass off.

“Cat got your tongue?” she mused.

He _couldn’t_  let this moment slide.

“No, but he’d love yours…”

So what if he was with her as Chat rather than Adrien? Technically it wasn’t cheating, so there was no harm, eh?

Marinette bit down on her lip and clamped her eyes shut. “I can’t tell if that chat-up line was gross or hot…”

“Did it make you want more from me?”

“Mhm.”

“Then it served it’s purpose.”

His lips crashed onto hers as he lay her on her back, letting his passion and love for this sweet and perfect girl over-rule all other rational thought and feeling in his mind. Each kiss was a precious snippet of her time he had earned, each touch she gave him one he didn’t want to end as he loomed over her. Slowly he popped open the top button of her shirt, hoping for permission to continue in the form of a happy silence he received gladly. Unlike Adrien, Chat Noir’s persona was more all out and fast, less chivalrous. And this was something which seemed to appeal to Marinette greatly.

It was only once her shirt and bra were discarded half way across the bedroom floor, and Chat was planting forceful kisses all over her torso that he realised the truth.

There was harm in what they were doing, so much harm. Even if he knew that this was just how they usually were except with a black suit and mask separating them, Marinette was not to know this. That meant that her intentions were not to be with her boyfriend, but with another man over him.

Whether Chat and Adrien were the same person were irrelevant. This proved to Adrien one thing: Marinette would cheat on Adrien given the chance and circumstances.

He pulled away, looking down on her with a look she couldn’t place even though she racked her brain. Irritation, despair, upset, contempt—they all blared out at her as he shook his head slightly, letting Adrien’s emotions take him over.

_I trusted you…_

Thinking it to himself would do nothing, but saying a word to her felt impossible at this moment in time. He didn’t know if or when he would next face her or who as. All he knew was how traumatic and exasperating it would be.

As he stepped backward, a single tear ripping down his cheek, he cursed his want for answers and feeling. It had only ripped his heart into shreds and left him to bleed. His curiosity hadn't wrecked him, or just 'muddled' things further: it had  _killed_  the relationship and love he’d cared for so profoundly, and in turn, the cat himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dayum...
> 
> what did you think of that, and what do you think is going to go down next chapter? I hope you liked it!!
> 
> also if you wanna contact me, my tumblr name is 'lethargicshadowlover' :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Adrien's a lairy little shit and kwami's reunite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely loved writing this chapter, and it's longer than usual so that's a nice extra! I really hope you enjoy :)

He shot up straight as he woke. Sweat left a sheen layer across his bare torso and made his forehead clammy, his skin burning white hot with anger and emotional pain. But still, as much as he wanted to fall back asleep and drift into an eternal perfect dream, Adrien was relieved to have escaped the torment sleep really brought.

Visions of her—of Marinette—crowded his mind. All he could see when he closed his bloodshot eyes was her on top of someone else, kissing someone else, and worst of all, those beautiful blue orbs looking at other men the way they did at him.

The way they had at Chat Noir, too.

As much as he knew he’d egged her on, and brought this trauma upon himself, he couldn’t bring himself to take the blame.

“She could’ve stopped me,” spat Adrien, pulling viciously at his hair. “Plagg, she could’ve stopped me and she didn’t!”

The groan and complaint for his loud voice he’d expected didn’t follow. Surprised, Adrien looked around, focussing on his bedside cabinet on the spot where the kwami usually rested during the night only to find him gone.

Immediately, Adrien panicked. Not once since he had known the little black menace had he lost him and had him vanish out of nowhere or whilst he was sleeping. His feet fell from the bed to the floor and he rushed out of the bedroom door that he’d left open, and was even more shocked that when he arrived in the kitchen Plagg wasn’t tirelessly pulling at the handle of his fridge.

He was sat on the window sill, seemingly staring out at the streets below.

The view from Adrien’s apartment from the windows was nothing inspiring, just three billboards—one of which had the young man’s father on it—and two more, slightly smaller apartment blocks with deep red brick work and very few working lights. Nothing about it was exciting, and there was definitely no reason that Plagg of all souls would want to stare out at it.

Adrien slowly moved closer, running his hand nervously through his hair and sweeping it from his face until he was merely a few steps behind the black cat. Of course, he knew that Plagg could sense him, but he still felt the need to be polite and declare himself.

“Morning,” he muttered, in a gruff and despairing tone.

“Is it?”

With a slight smile, Adrien leant against the wall and joined his friend’s watching of a rather non-enchanting view. “Well, according to the clock it’s half-past-two so, yeah: morning.” He huffed and rubbed his neck as his smile disappeared and brow furrowed. “A whole three-and-a-half hours since I had all my trust and faith mutilated and thrown back at me like I—”

“Adrien…”

His voice grew rapidly in volume and his muscles tensed, drowning out the kwami in mere seconds. “—like I never meant the slightest thing to her. _Never_! I never did a _thing_  to hurt her and what does _she_  do? Chucks everything back in my face; pays me with disrespect and betrayal!”

“Look, kid—”

“I am _done_  with being walked all over, Plagg! My whole damn life I’ve let my father walk all over me—now her. Now _her_! Even Marinette Dupain-Cheng is able to tread me into the ground; _holy shit_  am I pathetic or what?”

Plagg finally looked up, green almond-shaped eyes full of what Adrien was too angry to note was sombre concern. There was no point in speaking yet. He had to let him get it out.

“I gave her all of me and the only thing I wanted back was her loyalty and affection,” continued Adrien. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given up on Ladybug after all, Plagg. She was nothing but loyal and kind and gorgeous—everything I thought Marinette was!”

“Everything she _is_ , kid,” he corrected, sighing and floating up to just in front of his chosen’s face. “Listen, if you hadn’t have provoked her then she wouldn’t have—”

“But she did! She still did it; wanted it! Plagg, she could’ve stopped me—stopped _Chat_  at any time! But she didn’t because she wanted it, and I barely had to do a thing…”

“Adrien, you took off her shirt and bra, and made out with her for at least a quarter of an hour.”

That silenced him, but not in the way Plagg was hoping. _Maybe_ , he had thought, _if I make him see he asked for it then he’ll see sense, calm down, maybe forgive her_.

No. Instead, he clenched his fists, grinding his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut with rage and animosity so much it must’ve hurt. Again he was dripping with perspiration just as he had been in his sleep when Plagg left him alone to think, worrying about the same thing he was thinking now. However at this point, after hearing what was probably just the start of many Marinette based rants, his anxiety had increased from the worse side of mild to full out sickening.

Sighing, Plagg reached out a little black paw and poked Adrien’s cheek before resting on his shoulder, much to the young man’s confusion. “Seriously, kid, I’m going to need you to cheer up now,” he mused with a false laugh.

The attempt was horrifically bad, and the blonde was understandably unchanged.

“You expect me to suddenly brighten up just like that? Oh yes, Plagg, thank you! Now you’ve worked your magic with those enlightening words I suddenly see everything in such a positive fucking light!” Sarcasm dripped from his words, a disgustingly arrogant look on his face.

Never in Plagg’s time with Adrien had he seen him be so wrathful and vile. He hated it, he couldn’t stand it, he wanted to hit him round the face with every object he could see.

“Seriously,” the cat groaned, “if you’re not careful you might get akumatized. You’re in a seriously bad way, kid…”

An obnoxious laugh exploded from his throat as he hit the wall and threw his head back in dismay. “I’m in a ‘bad way’? Really? I hadn’t noticed!”

“Well, honestly you’re being a nightmarish brat and I think you ought to grow up or else we’re going to lose you to Hawkmoth!”

“I’ve already lost my faith and my happiness so fucking _go for it_!”

He cried out as his face hit the brick wall he stood beside, his cheekbone grazed and his hair splayed out across his forehead. The look in Plagg’s eye told Adrien he was troubled, but ultimately the young man knew how proud of himself he would be for managing to push a grown man with such force against the wall that he could hurt him as well as snap him out of such a foul mood.

While annoyed, Adrien was mostly grateful that he’d done it. Still, that didn’t stop him from uttering a sincere, “I hate you sometimes” after apologising for his vulgar attitude.

“You wouldn’t be here without me, kid.”

Boy, was he right.

Collapsing into the nearest plush chair, he buried his face in his hands, leaving gaps between his fingers just big enough to see the skeptical looks Plagg threw at him. His grabbed his coat from where he’d left it, mindlessly strew across his coffee table as usual when home alone, and dug his phone out from in one of the scrap filled pockets.

Fishing it out, he sunk back into the chair, his bare skin sticking slightly to the black leather and the familiar feeling returned to him of his heroes suit. This was far less comfortable, however, and pained him when he tried to move. Sometimes he loved it, but right now leather was pissing him off.

Still, he slumped and opened up his phone, looking over the notifications he’d received. He had to admit, it was about what he had expected, but it made his blood boil more than he would ever let show—not after how he’d just acted toward Plagg, anyway.

Two messages from Nino, both asking how he was and if he was still free to meet up at the weekend. The quick answer he gave to his friend’s concern was, ‘Probably, I’ll let you know.’ just as it usually was when he was down. All he could hope was that Nino didn’t realise or read too much into it.

More importantly, and frustratingly, he had six missed calls from Marinette, and three unread messages from her (all of them spread out over time, too). Seeing her name made him want to ring her up, simultaneously shouting at her for how she’d made him ache with anger but also begging her to never do that again, and tell her he would try his best to forget it ever happened.

But, no matter how much he wished for it, she didn’t know that he knew. Sure, maybe she thought Chat Noir had run to Adrien and confessed the pair’s sins, but he couldn’t jump to such conclusions—he needed to hear it from her before he said anything about it, and know if she would tell him the truth.

Only then would he stand a chance of forgiving her, and even then it would be far more than just a painstaking struggle.

With a sigh, his bottom lip tightly trapped between his front teeth, he opened her messages:

>>Hi. I know it’s late but do you have a minute? x

>>I guess you’re busy, but please call me the minute you get this. I have a lot of explaining to do, I know x

>>Adrien, I’m sorry. please get back to me soon. I need to talk to you badly xx

He looked up, eyes catching with Plagg’s for a split second. In an instant he could read the look on the kwami’s face.

 _Don’t do it_ , the cat’s gaze told him.

 _I have to_.

Typing the message took mere seconds before he placed his phone gently down on top of his jacket, sighing at the words he’d written in the spur of the moment. Knowing the truth, and knowing how she was probably up until past midnight worrying about the terrible mistake she’d made, he knew it was a horrible thing to say. Immediately, before it had even sent, he felt guilty but he couldn’t help himself.

>I expect you had a good night, but hope you didn’t have too exhilarating a time without me. call you tomorrow.

Almost immediately his phone vibrated and a response came through.

>>Adrien, can I call you?

>not right now, Mari. Go to sleep

>>Seriously, I really need to talk to you xx

>go to bed. we’ll talk tomorrow.

Frustrated with both his girlfriend and himself, the exhausted young blonde heaved himself out of the chair and shuffled back towards his bedroom, apologising to Plagg as he pulled the door too and left it only slightly ajar.

He knew Adrien had positioned it so that, as and when he was ready, the kwami could slip through the gap and he could return to his usual sleeping spot.

But the cat was deflated. The whole of his body felt heavy and he made his way back to his previous position on the window sill. Staring out, he went back to worrying about the countless stupid things Adrien was bound to do now, and the many ways in which he would deny what was happening.

Plagg wasn’t stupid, he’d lived for thousands of years and watched the lives of many Chat Noir’s progress—almost from start to finish. Some were bright and some were cheerful and, while they all faced challenges, the odd one faced more than their fair share of awful circumstances and had their life awash with sadness.

Well, as of yet, it really had just been the _one_  of those, but something terrible filled Plagg as he watched Adrien slump into the darkness of the next room.

 _You remind me of him so much, kid,_  he thought, letting his eyes squeeze shut. _Please. Don’t stumble down the same dark road…_

* * *

 

It had taken forever to calm down Marinette enough to trust her to be alone in her apartment, even once she was sleeping. Tikki watched protectively for a while, looking over her to make sure she was alright and that the nightmarish thoughts that surely filled her weren’t too much for her to handle.

Even then, once twenty minutes of surveying her features had passed and the tears she’d fell asleep with had dried against her cheeks, the little red kwami felt terrible for popping through the window and out into the cold Paris air.

Leaving Marinette alone send a wave of horrendous guilt through her, as she hated to be away from her chosen’s side for more than five minutes. But this was something that needed to be done; a conversation that had to be had.

_It’s been years, Plagg. I hope you’re ready to see me again._

She swooped and dived through open windows, even flying through closed doors and walls with the odd squeak escaping her as she almost knocked over something in each new room of the building she’d taken a shortcut through. Finally, she pushed her way through the last wall, and sped towards the most well-to-do block around the area, and up to the window she knew belonged to Adrien Agreste.

There, as she stared in, she saw him.

“Plagg!” she whispered with venom, zooming in and hovering just above him. “Plagg, how _dare_  you!”

As she had expected, her partner was in shock, managing only a, “Wow, Tikki, hi…” through his solemn expression and confused tone. “W-what are you doing here?”

“How could you let Chat—I mean, _Adrien_  do that to her, Plagg?” Tikki squinted at him, looking down at him resentfully. “She is broken!”

“Who is? Ladybug? For what?”

“No, you dolt; Marinette, of course!”

The cat let his eyes fall back to the view outside. “Stop shouting at me. Everyone has been shouting at me. And it’s not like I could’ve stopped him. Tikki, you know that.” His voice was soft and firm, and slowly his eyes drifted to meet hers, focussing on the blue gaze he hadn’t met in decades. “I think he’s falling into a bad place…”

“Well, you need to make him see sense. I can’t see her like this: I can’t take it,” she persisted. “She’s so important to me and she doesn’t deserve—”

All of a sudden Tikki’s voice died away, and her harsh, worried look fell into one of fear and upset. Slowly, she drifted down to sit beside Plagg on the sill, watching as he leant against the pane. His eyes were full of apprehension, more so than even hers, and the little red kwami felt herself rest a little hand on his.

“You’re scared like I am, aren’t you?”

Plagg’s body tensed up, and he turned himself away from her a little more. The answer to her question was clearly yes.

“You know it wasn’t your f—”

“If you say it wasn’t my fault _again_  I’m scared I’ll lose it, Tikki,” he snapped. His voice was deep and cracking. “If I had just been a good partner to him like you were to her then everything would’ve turned out fine…”

With a sigh, Tikki nudged him. “You know that isn’t true. Whatever you said wouldn’t have changed his decision. Fraiser was—”

“Don’t use his name!”

She jumped back, afraid of his outburst, and he immediately whipped round to look in her direction. Actually his focus was on the door, checking to see if his voice had woken up Adrien, but thankfully after a short silence no noise came from the room bar the man’s heavy breathing.

Finally Plagg fell back again, trying to relax a little better than he was, but to no avail. “Sorry, bug,” he muttered. “I just can’t stand hearing his name anymore.”

“It’s fine,” replied Tikki, letting her eyes flutter closed. “I’m the same with Celeste. She was one of my best…”

“I guess we both lost out that day, eh?”

The slightly light-hearted nature of his tone made Tikki lean towards him, head resting gently against his side with a simple nod in response.

For a while the pair sat in silence, concurrently fretting about the human’s they cared for so dearly both now and in the past, yet also enjoying what was the first time they had spent together since just after probably the worst moment of both their lives. A feeling of equality and balanced flowed between them, as it always had and was supposed to, but now there was a certain sense of serenity and bliss to their silence and partnership—a mutual understanding of the other’s pain.

After some time, Tikki began to grow sad from the silence. “So, you aren’t surprised Marinette is Ladybug?”

“Not at all,” chuckled Plagg. “Well, I was. But I found out about three months ago when I saw you hiding in the kitchen while they were having se—”

“Okay, okay, pervert. I get it.”

Sighing very deeply, she turned to face him. “I’m so scared for them both. I just know she’s going to fall apart if he leaves her, especially since she’s fallen in love with Chat now so even he can’t be there for her.”

“She’s fallen in love with Chat?”

Tikki’s giggle was incredibly soft but managed to light up the atmosphere a little. “Yes, you dummy. It’s obvious.”

“Then if she can’t make him love her as Marinette then why not try as Ladybug?”

“Because,” she explained, “even if things go well for them then, imagine the pain they’ll go through once they find out who each other really are. If nothing else does before it, _that_  will smash Mari to unrepairable.”

Plagg nodded in agreement. “Adrien too.” He clicked his tongue and tapped his paw against the window. “Then again, he’s broken already. You should see him.”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“No, you’re right.” Softly, he pushed Tikki away and stood up. “I better go check on him. You should return to Marinette. She’s going to need you, bug.”

She nodded, floating up with a sad smile. “You’re right. I’ll see you soon, Plagg.”

Just as she was about to pass through the window, she heard a noise behind her and spun around. Plagg floated closely behind her, returning the forced smile to her.

“Why can’t they just tell each other the whole truth? Then nothing would be confusing and they wouldn’t keep on hurting one another.”

“Because that’s far too easy, Plagg,” Tikki whispered. “And if there’s anything I’ve learn about love is then it’s that it’s definitely not easy.”

Watching the little red bug fly away and making his way through the door to Adrien’s side, Plagg could do nothing but wish it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you guys think? Let me know whether you liked the angst and what you think's going to happen next in the comments! Thank you for supporting me and I'm glad you guys are enjoying it <3


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there's explanations, crying and a switch of opinions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long chapter in comparison to some of the others, but I enjoyed writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it, too. it's a bit crazy and the pair of them get serious and change their look on what's happened and the outcome.  
> Enjoy :)

“I’m coming!” Marinette called out, throwing on a cardigan to cover up the ink-stained white shirt she’d mindlessly pulled on after she’d got out of bed. The thick-knitted, navy layer hung low, stopping at her mid thigh and brushing against the fabric of her jeans.

She looked a mess, but she felt like such a state she wasn’t sure she cared at all. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders in messy waves—random, splintering hairs lining her face in it’s most natural way, but it was one she’d always hated.

Still, she didn’t have time to fix it now, so simply tucked a particularly stubborn strand behind her ear and hurried to the door to answer the impatient knocking. It couldn’t be expressed in words the amount of dread she felt for who could be on the other side; who’s knuckles had rapped so furiously against the wood, far too frequently to be something of little importance.

Deep down she knew it was him, but at the same time she still hoped and prayed it wasn’t.

Heart racing, she flipped the stiff metal lock to one side of the door and heaved it open. To her surprise, her stomach didn’t drop as much as she had thought it would, her guilt hadn’t blinded her or immediately driven her to her knees to grovel, and she hadn’t lost her pulse at the meeting of those stunning green eyes. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like crap.

Adrien’s face as he stood in front of her—cold, hard and almost lifeless—made her question whether she was worthy of _anything_  she called her own, most of all him. From the dark bags that weighed his eyes she could see what was either a lack of sleep, or a few, useless, measly hours of rest that’d be stricken with torment.

_If he’s reacted like this to me standing him up once then I’m done for…_

Timidly, Marinette took a step back and gestured for him to come in, closing the door behind him with a gentle click as she composed herself enough to speak. “Do you want me to, um, take your coat?”

He simply shook his head and moved purposefully towards her desk, leaning his weight against the edge. As if her words had sparked something, he pulled up his coat collar to shield himself. Although it made him even more insanely handsome, he was obviously troubled: almost, scared.

“Okay,” she managed to choke out, “well, do you want to sit down? Have a drink?”

“No, Marinette,” Adrien shot back as his arms folded tightly across his body, clearly uncomfortable. “All I want is for you to talk and me to listen. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

The _only_  reason.

“For an explanation?”

“Or whatever comes close to one, yes.”

Her steps were slow and her feet dragged as she moved closer towards him, picking at her fingernails nervously. She almost wanted to grab him by the hands and tell him that he was exaggerating, as he was for what he knew. But for what she knew to be true ‘exaggeration’ was a total lie, and was a reaction more than necessary. Something about his furrowed brow felt especially demeaning, _dark_  and, most of all, not at all like Adrien as she knew him. It made her sick to the stomach, and that brought with it the intense repulsion for herself she had first expected upon seeing him in her doorway.

Unfortunately, even as her eyes wandered everywhere but near his, she could still feeling his concerned gaze cast on her, and suddenly she started to wonder if he knew more than she thought he did about last night’s events.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry that I stood you and your father up, Adrien.” She anxiously pulled at her lips with her fingertips. “I’d tell you that it was all down to university work, but honestly I was terrified and too much of a wimp to tell you so I just forgot about it, worked into the evening, didn’t turn up and just came back home.”

 _There’s one huge detail you’ve missed out, Mari,_  Adrien mentally nagged. He envisaged the sight which Chat Noir had basked in the previous night and focussed on the desiring look on her face as she’d let his lips explore every inch of exposed skin on her body. _It’s im-paw-sible to forget._

He balled his fists and tried desperately yet again to catch hold of the bright blue eyes he wanted to lock with so desperately. “Didn’t Chat Noir come to see you?” asked the blonde in a low, unimpressed tone. “I told him to and he said he did.”

“Oh, yeah: he was here for a while.”

_A while._

Adrien felt more than it’s fair share of blood rush to his face. “Is that it?”

“I, um, I…” The look on her face was blank and shocked, but showed no sign of an explanation from what Adrien could see. Wide-eyed and frozen, a doe in headlights who was only just acknowledging the car which she knew had been speeding towards her at a million miles an hour.

He watched on, his eyes narrowing as her lip quivered and she blinked fast in revelation of how close it was, never saying a word or making a single movement to dodge the collision she was certain to experience. The closer it came, the more his green torches glared at her, the further she seemed to be from prepared.

It hit hard. The tears began to fall.

Unable to hide the guilt that was endlessly bottling up, Marinette stumbled back, falling onto her bed with a soft thump. Her petite fingers feebly tried to hide her face and dampen the sound of each scared, dejected sob, but did little to soften the blows it threw at her dignity and also at Adrien’s heart.

Knowing what he knew and watching her break down should’ve made him at least a little less susceptible to the pleads and cries of his heart. With anyone else, after they’d gone against him or played with his emotions, he could stand back and watch with almost no feeling that he needed to jump in and cheer them up as best he could. Then again, in every way to Adrien, Marinette wasn’t like anyone else at all.

He had to admit it: he wished that she was. She certainly acted like anyone else—leading on and letting another man hold her and be with her in ways that only he should—and he wanted so badly to treat her how he would anyone else who would do such a thing.

But he couldn’t. He was too soft. She had an effect on him that he couldn’t explain that accentuated his kindness and his loyalty…even his love. It wasn’t exploitation for she would never ask or act in any way that could show any need of this extra care that Adrien would offer so willingly. Simply put, it was a natural reaction that came with the feelings he had developed for her. One he wished he didn’t have.

Way too soft, he was, to even resist the urge that brewed in his stomach as he leant on the desk and felt his chest burn as he watched her cry. With every sniffle and squeak his gut wrenched a little more, and before he knew it he was on his feet. He moved slowly, light on his feet and gentle as he brought her shaking frame into his arms. For a moment, he put everything he knew aside and just held her, burying his face into the chaotic black waves that he loved so much.

Trying to clear his mind and get back on track led to nothing, only finding himself lost in the fresh perfume of her strawberry shampoo as he always was when he slept by her side. It took him back, much to his dismay, to the first few mornings he’d woken up in the bed he now perched on the edge of, sheets strewn everywhere; the early hours in which he would wake to find a beautiful girl pressed against him and cocooned in his arms—the same beautiful girl who was now in his embrace, and sobbed into his neck with no end in sight.

It hurt Adrien. Not just the amazing memories, but the sight, and immediately he wanted to tell her it was all okay and they could move past this, but nothing was that easy. Before anything even near that could happen he had to hear her words, her side of it and her apology for what she had done.

“Hey,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss on the top of her head. “Marinette, calm down.” His tone was soft, but was not as warm and gentle as his touch. Hair slid behind her ears, guided by his fingertips and her chin lifted at the brush of the back of his hand, letting her blue eyes lock onto his wide and sheer with tears.

Adrien sighed and loosened his hold on her, but let his fingers continue to mindlessly twiddle a particularly silky strand of hair. “Shh,” he cooed, trying his best to hold back the resentment that still diseased his heart. “Tell me what’s up.”

“I can’t.” Marinette’s voice was almost non-existent. Only a few inches away, Adrien knew he was lucky to hear it. “I’m sorry, Adrien. I can’t tell you. I want to, but I—”

“Why is it you can’t?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you any more!” she cried, the sobs flooding back louder and faster. “I’ve ruined everything and hurt you just because I was a stupid, ungrateful…”

She couldn’t bring herself to finish, instead throwing herself into Adrien’s arms again. For years she’d dreamed and longed to feel what this was like, and wished to be held by him with affection that flowed between the two of them. For months she had indulged herself at every opportunity, immersing herself in what were certainly the second best and most powerful hugs she’d ever felt (coming only after her father).

Through that whole time, she realised now, she had taken fro granted the immense feeling that having Adrien hold her rocketed through her body. She hadn’t made the most of every squeeze, every slight change of tension in his arms as they enveloped her, and it was so important that she did now.

 _What if this is the last time?_  she asked herself, her tears boring their way into the collar of his jacket. What if after I speak I never get to feel this again?

Whether she fallen in love with Chat Noir was irrelevant. Marinette was absolutely in love with Adrien Agreste, just as she always had been. But the full on realisation had hit too late, so now here she sat: a blubbering mess, making a fool of herself in his arms, and attempting to ready herself to tell him the truth.

“I already know, Marinette,” said Adrien firmly.

All of a sudden every muscle in her body tensed up, and she felt her breathing fall to almost nothing when she pulled back to look at him.

The look in his eyes was horribly disheartened: a unsettled, suffering look that told her all she needed to know and that all she needed to do—for now—was keep quiet and listen. It’d be her time to talk and grovel later.

Adrien’s hair fell into his eyes, impeccably similar to Chat Noir’s for a moment, before he pushed it back as he always did. “Chat came to me last night and told me everything.”

“And what was ‘ _everything_ ’?” she replied quietly. 

For a moment he was silent, and she could tell that behind that gentle, glaring gaze he was racking his brain for the right words to use.

“That you kissed him and flirted with him,” he muttered after a while, a bitter tone dripping from his voice. “That you lead him on and then…well, he realised it was wrong and left.”

Marinette pulled away, shaking her head. “No, no. He lied. That isn’t what happened.”

“Then what did happen?”

“ _Far worse_ ,” she admitted. Her hands rubbed her face and eyes before she looked up at him, pulling nervously on her dark hair but bravely managing to look him dead in the eyes. “I got home and found him at my window. Honestly, I was stressed and disappointed in myself for standing you up and he wanted to come in, so I let him, thinking nothing of it. When we were teenagers he always used to, um, sneak in and help me with my science homework and we’d share left over pastries from the bakery.”

She sighed and bit her lip hard. “What I mean to say is, I liked to think of him as a friend of mine. And, at first, we were just chatting, mostly about you and how I was feeling. He told me you’d sent him to check on me—which you didn’t have to do, but thank you anyway—and I got a little mad.”

“Mad?” chuckled Adrien humourlessly.

“Yeah, mad,” she answered. “I said that if I pissed you off that badly then you just ought to leave me.”

It was at that point she felt the need to look away. Not to cry more or to scold herself for a poor choice of words as it would usually have been, but just for her terrible actions and to avoid the shame in the look she expected to cascade from his eyes. 

If she’d have looked, she would’ve seen it wasn’t there, and also that the  hint in the expression she expected him to wear that said he wanted nothing to do with her anymore, wasn’t there either.

Still, stuttering, tongue-tied Marinette managed to keep her cool as best as a teary eyed mess could. “You should, because I’m an awful person, but that’s beside the point. He started to flirt with me and stupidly, _oh so fucking stupidly_ , I flirted back. I’ll make no excuses—honestly, I was attracted to him, but I shouldn’t have let it go further. But the next thing I knew we were kissing and after that—”

“Your shirt was off?”

Regrettably, she nodded. “Fortunately Chat stopped before anything else more than touching happened, but what already did was way more than it should’ve.” Her head lifted and glistening eyes locked on his once more, acceptance of her actions and the necessary consequences that came with them, however much they hurt her, setting in her mind. “I don’t want your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. I took everything you gave me and threw it back in your face just for one stupid moment of confusion and curiosity.”

 _Curiosity_.

Adrien’s heart began to thump hard, so painfully hard against his ribs. At once he was both mortified, furious and terrified, and he couldn’t place which feeling he hated most. All he was certain about was that her words of curiosity had him on edge, and thinking solely about his alter-ego’s own issues with inquisitiveness and how it had helped wreck everything. 

_Her’s killed the cat, and mine ruined everything we had._

How stupid that only now he was seeing how much of his fault it actually was. He was right to say she should’ve stopped him, but had he ever given her the opportunity to hop out from underneath his overbearing, demeaning shadow or his smirk and ask for even a moment’s breath.

Maybe that was true, or maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know, and he didn’t understand if he even had to be certain of the facts when he already was set on his feelings. An overwhelming feeling that rushed through him at the sound of her words and her despairing tone told him just one thing.

He couldn’t lose her: not without trying; not when he loved her so much and he knew she cared deeply for him, too. Stupid, he was, but he wouldn’t abandon hope to forgive her if he could.

Suddenly feeling an idiotic wave of desperation, Adrien grabbed at her hand helplessly. “No, Marinette, it’s okay. We can—”

“Your care for me too much Adrien,” she mumbled, her voice and confidence wavering more than every before, “and I don’t want to hurt you anymore. You know how much I care for you, and even though this is entirely the wrong point in a relationship to say this, but…I _love_  you, Adrien.”

Adrien shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight every now and again to try and mask the pools in his eyes. “God, I love you, too,” he spat out, exasperated and ruined. “What the fuck have we done to get to this point?”

“ _We_  haven’t done anything.” She sniffed and lay her free hand across the top of his that clutched her. With a sad, almost non-existent smile, Marinette squeezed his hand. “I’m the one who’s fucked it up, and you don’t need people like me in your life. I bring too much hurt and confusion into your life and…oh, God, Adrien, just understand I don’t want this but we have to.”

“Have to what?”

There was a certain clarity that had hit before she uttered the next words and flew her arms around his neck in a final silent confession. It was impossible for her to pin-point what it was that got her to the point where her opinion had so drastically changed, and she’d decided that grasping a straws right now wasn’t a good idea, but now she was set.

With her arms tight around him, and her lips against his cheek, she spoke softly. “Maybe we _can_  fix things _one day_. But for now you are entitled to so much more. So while we patch up trust—if we even can—and I redeem myself for the complete bitch I've been, _please:_ search for so much more.”

“You’ll be surprised to hear that I don’t want 'so much more',” whispered Adrien. “Say what you want and ignore me if you will, but I’m done searching. If I must, I won’t try, because I’ve already got what I want, it just needs a hell of a lot of patching up.”

The blonde pulled back from her and frowned, a sincere and saddened look in his eye, but deep within them, Marinette saw what she thought might be a glimmer of hope. Useless, maybe, but it was there. Boy, did the guy remind her of a leather-clad dumbass sometimes, especially when he surrounded his head with dreams and unlikely faith.

“You’re saying you’re aren’t giving up on us?”

“Of course I’m not.” His hand brushed her cheek as he stood up. “I tried to, and even after just hours of hating you it’s too much for me. I can’t physically give up—I’m _that_  painfully in love with you.”

Getting to her feet and shuffling to the door with Adrien just behind, Marinette shot him a disapproving and skeptical look. “You really shouldn’t be,” she warned as she flicked the lock on her door. But she couldn’t deny the face that stared pitiful and longingly back at her was one that filled her with the same unexplainable feeling, and she wished more than anything that things would sort their way out.

Marinette admired Adrien’s apparent optimism, but she knew it would take a miracle to clean up this mess enough to get to what he really, truly deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, let me tell you something: their trouble most certainly isn't over yet...  
> let me know what you guys think, I'd really appreciate it, and until next chapter I hope you're all good <3


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Adrien's whining, we meet his professor, and we see some DJWifi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams and stuff means it's been a while since I updated so I made this chapter a bit longer for you all. I hope you enjoy :)

For her, things had got just that little bit easier. Her stress levels had decreased and the guilt she housed for her feelings about Chat Noir weren’t half as gut-wrenching to deal with as before. In fact, when it came to calming her mind, splitting up with him was the best mistake Marinette had ever made.

Still, it was just that— _a mistake_ —and was one that left the young man, after the initial first few weeks of hope, a nervous wreck who shook at the mention of her name.

Adrien had managed for a while to keep the positivity he’d first held close, but five weeks down the line he was starting to feel it; the crack that etched further, deeper into his heart every day burrowing it’s way in and darkening that promise of light he’d tried to preserve. He longed for contact, not even physical contact but just the smallest of conversations to sweeten the bitter taste of what she called ‘helping him’. Helping him, indeed…being away from her like this was driving him mad.

Here, at the back of his lecture hall, slumped against the wooden bench with his hand mindlessly twiddling his pen between his fingers, his mind raced with not the equations and information that Professor Lou tried to desperately drill into his students brains, but with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. All the beautiful imperfections she held, along with all of the things that were effortlessly faultless—both in body and in mind.

His eyes zoned in and out on the blackboard. It was littered with Lou’s scribbles and the illegible handwriting each of the people in the lecture at that moment had been forced to learn to cope with, but to anyone else it was nothing more than a symbol here, a number there, and the name of some German or Russian who died some fifty odd years ago doing something that they knew would kill them but did it anyway.

The smearing of the chalk and the mess of dust that crept up Lou’s lapel never failed to make Adrien think longingly of the woman he loved; how, when she was painting, all boundaries of clean and messy were obliterated, and by the end of it her shirt would be thirty more colours than it was to begin with.

Then he’d start to wonder whether the hard work he’d witnessed her put into it was all coming together in these final stages of the academic year or if she’d, like him, crumbled and seemingly lost half of her IQ. Adrien didn’t know, and he wouldn’t know, but that didn’t stop him thinking long and hard about her.

And it most certainly didn’t stop him feeling broken that he’d let her go.

A laugh arose from the small group of young physicists that were scattered about the benches that lined the room, causing the blonde to rub his eyes and clear away the blurs of tiredness and distraction. Worryingly, the last thing he’d taken notes on was nowhere to be seen on the board, and instead was a brand set of scrawls that made next to no sense.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, flipping the page through his book and ripping off the lid of his biro with his teeth. “Plagg, what did I miss?”

“Oh?” The little black cat popped out from his backpack, a tiny wheel of cheese in his paws. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy stupidly pining for the girl who you know hurt you then you would know,” he hissed, tearing off a chunk of his food and throwing it into his mouth. “Plus, you actually expect me listen?”

“You _always_  listen,” groaned Adrien, slipping his reading glasses down from his brow to his nose. “Now spill.”

Plagg huffed. “He recapped thermodynamics and magnetism. Now he’s going off topic about complex mathematical bullshit that I can’t be doing with.” He rose up a little and prodded the young man’s bicep. “More importantly, cheer up and stop thinking about Marinette.”

“I’m not thinking about her, Plagg.”

“I _can tell_  when you’re lying, kid.”

“Clearly not,” he retorted, “because I’m telling the truth.”

“I’m thousands of years older than you, and I can read you like a book so just admit it.”

Adrien knocked Plagg down into his lap, afraid the kwami might be spotted by anyone in his class, but kept his eyes trained on the cat. His hands flew back, fingers knotting in his hair aimlessly and pulling as though to deliberately cause himself pain. “I can’t help it, Plagg. I just can’t get her off my mind,” he sighed. “You’re going to tell me to grow up, move on and look for better just like _she_  told me to, but that’s not going to work. Stupidly, I love her, even though she _did_  intend to cheat on me—”

“With yourself!”

“Which is irrelevant!” His eyes clamped shut as he rested head in his hands. “Besides, when it happened, wasn’t it _you_  telling  _me_  to give her a second chance?”

That was something Plagg couldn’t deny. The little cat winced and scurried back into the backpack, his little green eyes just about shining through the dim, dark light of below the desk. Before he spoke, he took a slow and full intake of breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t want you to lose hope, and I couldn’t risk Hawkmoth taking advantage for your current state.”

“And you think he won’t now?”

“I’m not saying that.” His voice was low but firm, holding in it a softness that Adrien know that his intentions really were nothing but pure of heart. As much of a pain as he was, Plagg did mean well for the young man.

With a sigh, Adrien slumped and rested his forehead on crossed arms against the desk, appearing as though he was merely resting his head from exhaustion to avoid drawing attention to himself. “You just don’t want me to be akumatized, right?” he asked, biting his lip as he locked eyes with the little cat once again. “Right?”

“Well, honestly you can’t—”

“Oi, Blondie!”

Adrien’s head snapped up, red with sudden anxiety and embarrassment at the shout. Directly ahead of him, Lou leant his back against the blackboard, blissfully unaware of the chalk that would imprint on his jacket when he stepped forward and bearing a concerned but humorous frown. In one hand he twiddled the chalk as he nodded to the younger man, shoving the other hand into the pocket of his jeans.

Dark eyebrows furrowed and mouth tugged up into a confused smirk, Lou let out a humourless chuckle as he locked eyes with Adrien. His deep brown hair, verging on black, fell shaggy across his forehead, but was nicely trimmed around the sides and back. It was just short enough to expose his brow, but managed to weave it's way into his eyes every now and again—a trait Lou would curse more than he realised.

By 'Blondie' it was obvious Lou meant Adrien. Of course, in the class there were other blonde students, but nobody else managed to gain the nickname from their professor. Adrien was almost certain that the only reason he stood out to his teacher was because of his undying and almost irritating dedication to studying and understanding everything he was told. It must've been pretty clear to Lou that something big was bugging Adrien, as it was rare he didn't pay attention.

"You with us, Ade?" he asked, crossing his arms across his chest and using the _other_  nickname he'd given the young man. "You look like you're somewhere else. Want to tell us what I do next?"

Adrien audibly sighed, eyeing the problem on the bored with a look of slight confusion and distaste. "Don't you integrate the second differential to take it back, then whack that equation into the most effective kinematic equation to find the velocity and then substitute until you can find the total distance the pendulum swings."

A wave of shocked silence flew across Lou's face. He was plastered with shock and what seemed like worry for his student, but instead of question he simply clapped his hands together and chuckled. "Adrien, you've been in a world of your own for the whole hour. How did you work that out in, like, three seconds?"

"Because my math teacher taught me it when I was sixteen."

A few heads turned to look at him, and Adrien sat back into the comfort of the rough wooden bench, awkwardly smiling with a blush skimming it’s way across his mildly tan cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled with a sigh. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Lou pressed his thumbs to his lips as his eyebrows curved more in surprise. “What’t the matter with you? You seem off today, kid?”

The way his professor spoke to him always reminded Adrien of a much merrier—and less annoying—version of his kwami, especially when he called Adrien ‘kid’.

The blonde let out a great huff and shook his head, resting his elbows back on the desk as the feeling of anxiety and worry swarmed him. It prickled at his skin and prodded at the back of his neck, making his heart rush to keep up with the change of surroundings and all the eyes set on him. “I’m fine, so if you wouldn’t mind could we take the whole room’s attention off of me and back on physics?”

Chat Noir loved the recognition he got, as—although there was a great amount of it—he always stood slightly in Ladybug’s shadow which was something he’d always relished. However, Adrien had had enough of being the centre of attention by the age of nine. From then on, it had become more and more tedious, more and more frustrating and most of all more nerve-wracking.

Sure, he wouldn’t have a panic attack from twenty-odd people looking at him at once as people talked about him and solely him, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a dryness that set in his mouth and a sickly feeling in the bottom of his stomach.

Thankfully, Professor Lou dropped the subject for the rest of the lecture, often throwing a kind smile or glance Adrien’s way mid sentence or while listening to a comment. He seemed to understand, not to Adrien’s surprise, that when some young men were upset, they didn’t necessarily want to talk about it to make them feel better.

Still, that didn’t stop the young professor clamping his fingers gently on Adrien’s shoulder once everyone had packed up and dawdled out the door. He spun round the man, not letting go as he examined the look on his student’s face.

“It’s _her_ , isn’t it? The girl,” said Lou, tone soft and smile pitiful.

Inwardly, it made Adrien want to scream, smack the desk and cry all at once. “No,” he lied, forcing a laugh. “No, it’s…it’s not her.”

“Yes it is, Ade. Don’t lie. I’m a young man, I get it.”

“No,” scoffed Adrien again, shaking his head at his teacher. “You don’t. You think you’re making me feel better but when you leave here you get to go home to your lovely fiancée who loves you, who’s smart and beautiful as you _love_  to tell us even when it’s _completely_ _irrelevant_.”

He should’ve stopped there; he clocked it in his head that he should’ve. But, for some reason, the words kept spewing out. “And what do I get when _I_ get home? An empty apartment which leaves me with memories, as every thing I touch is poisoned with negative or—even worse—amazing associations that I just can’t shrug off. So I sit there for hours knowing I’ve fucked up my happiness and reflecting on how good my life could have been if I’d have just not done _one_  stupid thing.

“Do you know what’s scariest of all? You’re only, like, seven years older than me, Lou. Seven years. Just that and the difference between us is so sickeningly different that I don’t know if I’m going insane or if I’ve just completely fucked up my chance of what I truly want.”

Silence. Nothing, not even the birds outside, dared to make a sound. The only thing that moved were Lou’s eyebrows expressively up his forehead under his bangs so far Adrien was sure it must have been some kind of record.

There was so much Lou should’ve said; about the man disrespecting his teacher or about how seven years makes a world of difference. But he didn’t. Not because he couldn’t or felt obliged to be nice: he just didn’t.

Instead and threw his bag over his shoulder and rubbed a chalky hand through his dark hair, leaving flakes of snowy white dust darted through the strands and smiling as he did it. “Sometimes I really do wonder if you should’ve done some sort of Literature degree, Ade, seriously.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, c’mon. I mean ‘every you touch is poisoned by memories’? Who are you? Stephanie Meyer or Shakespeare?”

Adrien shook his head, letting himself break out into an unwelcome smile. “How could you possibly compare one of the greatest authors and playwrights in history to the woman who wrote _Twilight_ , Lou. That’s almost treacherous!”

“I rest my case!” cackled Lou, slapping Adrien on the back. “Look, mate. Cheer up and make a choice. Move on or fight for her. That’s all you can possibly do.”

All Adrien could smile and give him a sincere nod as he shuffled towards the doorway.

“Oh, and Ade?”

He flung his head round. “Mhm?”

With an almost Chat Noir like smirk, Lou narrowed his eyes playfully at him. “There’s chalk on your back.”

* * *

 

Once Adrien had spent the next fifteen minutes in the university bathroom, painfully attempting to rub out all the chalk dust that had eaten it’s way into one of his favourite jumpers, Plagg lingered uneasily behind the zip of his bag, and whispered to his chosen as though a little angel on his shoulder. “Lou was just trying to help, you know? You didn’t have to lash out at him.”

“He’s fine, Plagg. He didn’t mind so it doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe, but does that mean it’s alright for you to talk to people like that—”

Adrien stopped dead and gritted his teeth. “Look, if you’re going to tell me how to live my life then please, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to listen to you. Okay?”

Shocked and subsiding back into the depths of the fabric, Plagg hid away, agreeing timidly. It scared him the way Adrien could change in the blink of an eye these days. He was recently chopping and changing from hot to cold to scorching, and it was safe to say he was not as gentle and kind as he once had been. Every day, his frown would grow deeper, and the little cat could just tell that he became sadder and darker with every passing minute alone.

It didn’t just scare him. It terrified him.

When Adrien finally arrived in one of the garden’s scattered around the campus, he looked eagerly about the space to find Nino as he was meant to. It didn’t take him long at all to spot his friend, but mostly due to the flaming red hair he was basically attached to.

Nino, wearing his trademark baseball cap, leant with one hand against the wall as the other firmly held the prominent waist of his girlfriend. Stood laughing and grinning as she looked up at him was Alya, and from the slight bounce of his best friend’s shoulders, Adrien could see Nino’s chuckles, too. 

Although he didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but feel bitter at the sight before him. Of course, the pair had just got back from a holiday away together, alone for three weeks without any interruptions. They were especially infatuated with one another and he could hardly blame them for how they acted. Usually they were able to keep their displays of affection to a minimum, though.

In Adrien’s eyes, Nino should’ve known better. Even if he wasn’t aware of hhis friend’s presence, he knew Adrien was suffering, and must’ve realised that publicly holding and kissing Alya right in from of him would only bring thoughts to Adrien’s mind that weren’t at all welcome.

Feeling unexplainably awkward for just standing a metre behind them, Adrien cleared his throat. He felt heat rush to his cheeks, but didn’t feel the slightest bit bad for separating the pair. However selfish that was, it was an act of self-preservation.

“Guys?” he softly chuckled. “Alya, Nino? You listening?”

Alya’s head jolted up like a shot, eyes wide and excited upon catching Adrien’s confused, awkward stare. Pushing Nino away, she bounced towards the blonde and heaved him into a tight, loving hug that did nothing but make his bones ache (not that he’d ever admit that to her—even if she was very nice, the girl was terrifying).

“Adrien, it’s so great to see you and I want to talk, but you’ve just reminded me I have somewhere I really, really need to be right now!” she chimed, bouncing on her toes and smirking cheekily before calling, “Nino, I’ll see you later!” and almost running out of the courtyard on her own.

The two men were left, tense and surprised by the excitement she’d exuded, wearing equally as relieved and confused looks on their faces.

“Sorry about that,” sighed Nino, biting on his bottom lip as he stepped forward, taking the lead in the conversation. “She can get a bit…melodramatic when she’d excited.”

Adrien nodded slowly. “As I can tell.” He reached out and pulled his friend into a warm, friendly hug, patting his back slightly before pulling back. “God, it feels like ages since I last saw you, Nino.”

“Doesn’t it just! Man, I swear so much has changed since I last saw you.”

“What do you mean?”

Chuckling, Nino rubbed his neck, seemingly almost uncomfortable with the question. “For starters, I’ve had a lot of whacky stuff happen. And you definitely seem…different than when I left.”

 _If by different you mean now suffering from severe mental anguish every minute of every day then yes, I’m definitely different_ , thought Adrien.

“No, I’m the same old me. Just a little battered from, uh, you know…”

“Marinette?”

Words weren’t even needed to clarify Nino was right, his friend’s silence said enough as it was.

“Look,” Nino mumbled, “I’m sorry for all the, uh, petting with Alya, you know. I know it’s hard for you to watch and I shouldn’t of, uh—”

“Nino?”

His head cocked innocently to one side.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Though now a little calmer and grateful, Nino still looked a little sheepish for the way he’d acted, and it was clearer to Adrien now more than ever how much his friend had truly grown up over the years. From the loud, spritely and opinionated teenager he had been, Nino had become a calmer, shyer and more docile creature, as well as growing the fair few inches you’d expect.

And it was something Adrien was remarkably happy about. He’d always loved Nino however he was, and the guy was his best friend through every screw up or minor bump in the road as well as sharing with him some of the greatest highs of his life—literal _highs_  on one holiday—but this slightly more grown up and sensible Nino was what he needed right now.

It almost made him feel happy on it’s own.

“So you’re not too bothered about Marinette anymore?”

Adrien shrugged, forcing a laugh to scoff through the swelling in his chest. “I’m alright. It doesn’t matter anyway, eh? I’m fine. Life goes on, doesn’t it? I’m fine.”

“Be honest with me,” urged Nino, “are you pissed off ‘fine’ or are you actually fine?”

“ _I’m fine_!”

“You are not fine, man. C’mon.”

“I am, Nino, seriously! I’m just…” Adrien’s eyes dropped to the floor and to Nino’s sneakers. “Dandy…”

Unconvinced, the tanned young man let out a heavy sigh and slapped his hand against the blonde’s back. It took Adrien by surprise at first, and mildly irritated him as the sting of the collision resonated, but as he looked up he found his feelings doused with a calming sensation.

Nino gave him one of those looks, one of those smiles, that isn’t patronising, isn’t pitiful, and isn’t too cheerful that it makes you feel wrong for being sad. Just a genuine and gentle smile, bright white teeth shining and eyes so soft and kind that Adrien had to take a minute to appreciate the quality of his best friend as a person and as his companion.

Sure, it didn’t make all the pain that choked him go away or even let it die down, but it lifted his spirits enough to hold his head up and return a weak grin.

The look his green eyes replied with was simple, _Thank you_.

With his back pressed against the brick wall, Adrien slouched and dropped his bag. He crossed his arms snugly against his chest, running a hand through his messy blonde hair every now and again with nerves as he and Nino chatted about what the weather was like in the Caribbean during the holiday he’d had. It wasn’t the most riveting topic on conversation, but clearly his friend knew Adrien just needed distractions and since he hadn’t been there to provide them for weeks they needed to be quickly implemented.

“I bought you a gift while I was out there,” chuckled Nino, “but I think it’s still in Alya’s suitcase, so I’ll give it to you when I can.”

Adrien shook his head, smiling his way through nervous laughter. “Speaking of Alya, do you know where she vanished to?”

Collapsing beside him, Nino closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight. “Honestly, it was probably to Marinette so she can tell her.”

“Tell her what?” His eyes swerved from forward to lock on his friend.

“Um, just about what happened on holiday,” Nino replied, biting down on hip and refusing to open his eyes. “You know what she’s like.”

“Only when she has gossip. Which means she has gossip.”

“Not necessarily…”

“Nino,” Adrien groaned, forcing an almost irritated smile. “Look, man, whatever it is you can tell me. I won’t get pissed off.”

Sighing, Nino turned to face him, letting his dark eyes blink open and focus through the lenses that circled them. His hand when to his neck once again, tugging pointlessly on the short hair at the back of his head.

“Honesty,” he said, “I’m not worried about pissing you off. I’ll just feel like I’m, er…” He clicked his tongue with a deep breath. “Like I’m rubbing my life in your face.”

Unable to decide if he was annoyed or amused by his own confusion, the blonde just shook his head again. “What are you on about?” he mused. “What would you be rubbing in my face?”

“You really want me to say it?”

“God’s sakes, yes!”

Nino winced. “Can I merge it into the reason why I feel like I’m rubbing it in?”

“If that makes you feel better,” laughed Adrien, “then go ahead.”

“Okay then. The fact that you’re in the process of not being about to stand seeing or hearing about love ‘cause of Mari and I’m engaged and happier than I’ve ever been.”

As expected, Adrien’s mood then went from a solid plus thee to a shaky minus nine as he forced a smile and fought to overpower the cracking in the back of his throat as he congratulated someone who deserved everything he had and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed it. I've been writing so much angst that I needed to start to move away, but I couldn't forget the hurt Adrien would still feel so a little bit remained...  
> Still, let me know what you think of this chapter, and I hope you have a great day :)<3


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinate shows her feelings and finds a little bit of clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shorter than recently, and I know I promised lots of information in the next (this) chapter, but I've had a lot going on and I haven't had enough free time to write all that. I did however have time for this, so I hope you enjoy

With her heart long gone from her chest and sat stubbornly in her mouth Marinette stared in awe at her friend’s left hand, paraded before her eyes with wiggles and shakes as if she wouldn’t have looked already.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous, Alya,” she mumbled, somewhat despondent; not at the blinding beauty of what was really only a lump of tightly pressed carbon, but the meaning it held behind it.

Things had grown a bit easier since her break up with Adrien, and her feeling for Chat now held no bounds. Still, it bothered her greatly that after his original adamance of fighting for her and remaining close she had heard so little from him.  He who knew she’d hurt him and still would’ve jumped from the peak of the Eiffel Tower for her at the drop of a hat.

While longing to grow close to someone else, she still found herself missing the blonde nerd and his innocent expressions. The way his strong arms would reach to help her up when she fell over or the grin her slapped on her face at even the silliest comment or action.

She finished the painting of him. She’d got top marks for it’s content, quality and preparation.

It now sat in the corner of her apartment, the blanket that hid it away gathering a thick layer of grime. Every time she cast eyes on it she would dart a glance towards her phone, letting her mouth drop open as she thought about cleaning up the mess, before deeply exhaling and letting it gather more and more dust.

If he wanted the mess to be cleared up, like _he_  had said he would do, he would show interest. Maybe he was scared to call, but scared for this long? Marinette thought that somewhat unlikely for someone who had called her his for months with total confidence and honesty. No attempts told Marinette exactly what she had expected: Adrien’s pleas had shrivelled up into forgotten hopes and whims of faith. He didn’t care anymore.

Here, stuck in between what she once had and what she desperately wanted, Marinette was in a desolate, lonely plain. Every plant and tree had lost it’s life, dwindling to dust and retreating to the horizon, and whilst there was fresh, hopeful buds and blades sprouting here and there it was only a matter of time before they fell to the floor.

Alya wasn’t helping her with this feeling at all.

More than anything, as her friend sat in front of her blabbing on about her new engagement, Marinette wanted to reach out and duct tape her mouth shut, even just for five minutes. Any silence to cut between the ego-slicing bragging would’ve been much appreciated if she only had such opportunity. However, if she  had done so to other people in the past as both herself and her alter-ego, the innocent girl would never have the nerve to cut down her best friend—especially not when she was on such a high.

“Seriously, it’s gorgeous,” she repeated with a soft smile. “Again, congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”

Guiding flaming red curls over her shoulder, Alya’s comically bright smile didn’t falter. “Oh, Mari, I’m so damn happy.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“I’m sure you can!” Her laugh echoed through the flimsy walls again, so loud Marinette was certain she saw her windows quiver in their panels at the sheer volume of Alya’s voice, and feeling compelled she joined in, much quieter.

Nervously she got to her feet and shuffled towards her desk chair from her position on the bed, eyeing up the covered canvas in the corner on her way. She tore her eyes away and collapsed into the swivelling chair. “Alya, I have a workshop in like twenty minutes, so I’ll have to leave in a minute. So, um,” she said with a kind glance behind her, “if you wouldn’t mind go—”

“Oh, I don’t think so, missy. We ain’t done talking.”

“Alya,” Marinette calmly sighed, reaching for the sketch pad and pencils on her desk, “no offence, but I can’t think of anything else interesting for you tell me. You’ve been at it for a while now.”

She cackled, jumping to her feet and pressing her hands quickly on Marinette’s shoulders. The shock made the sitting girl jump and spin to look at her, which only seemed to make Alya’s cheeky expression glow with more excitement and mischief. “We’re done talking about _me_ , but not _you_.”

_Of course._

“Alya, if you want to talk about Adrien, I’m really not sure I’m feeling up to it.”

“We’re going to talk about it or else you’re going to bottle it up.”

“Bottle _what_  up?”

“The fact that you clearly have feelings for him,” groaned Alya, frustrated. “Mari, girl, come on. Don’t pretend.”

Marinette hauled herself up and dragged the keys to her door across the wood until they fell from the edge into her other hand with a gentle _clink_. “I’m not denying that, but he’s pissing me off more than anything.”

“Still not attempt to sort everything out?”

“Not a peep.”

“Jesus, is he a wreck or what?”

The only thing Marinette could think to do was awkwardly chuckle along with her friend’s supposed humour and hope she would drop the subject. If it kept up, she knew Alya’s journalist side would seep out and would fire questions at her like stones at crows, the topic broadening like wildfire.

“So who’s the new one?”

Her head shot up. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, Mari,” Alya sighed. “The only way you’d be over this and in the angry stage so soon was if you had an option up and coming.”

“There is nobody ‘up and coming’,” she deadpanned, head falling back down to unlock the door. “I’m just over it.”

“Mari?”

“Hmm?”

Her eyes drifted up and to the side, peering at odd angles at the high eyebrows and unconvinced look that graced Alya’s face as she said, “You didn’t get over him from the age of fifteen onwards. Seven years down the line you can’t just brush him off.”

From her bag, Marinette swore she could hear Tikki’s soft, high-pitched giggles.

“Fine!” she finally admitted with a slamming of the door behind her. “There’s a new option I’ve got my sights on. He’s funny and charming and probably thinks I’m dumb and irritating but I’ve known him a long time and—”

“This worryingly feels like we’re fifteen again. You’re still talking about Adrien, aren’t you?”

“No, Alya, I’m not!”

She sped ahead, hoping to hear the footsteps behind her die away as she flew ahead of her friend. However, as always, Alya stubbornly wouldn’t let her get away without explaining.

For the ten minute walk that followed, Marinette pushed and rolled her eyes through Alya constantly shooting names at her, the same ones recurring more often than others.

“Sure it’s not Adrien.”

“Not Adrien.”

There was a thankful pause and a quiet whooshing of cars as the girls turned from one street the final corner, crossing the road.

“Oh, it’s got to be Nathanael, hasn’t it?” Alya tried one last time. “It has to be. You guys have always been friends!”

“Friends: yes. Just friends, Alya.”

She smirked before slowing her pace. “You and Adrien were ‘just friends’ at first. I’ve managed it.”

 _You’ve managed to drive me up the wall and make me brain dead,_  she mentally replied. _God, I need a coffee now._

A sudden shout and a giggle pulled Marinette from calming visions of caffeine and quiet and back into the land of the loud and the living, leaving her smack bang in the entrance of the courtyard, and looking directly ahead at tufts of wild blonde.

Seeing him was paralysing, like casting eyes on someone so sickening familiar but distant and changed that it feels almost unreal. It seemed to her like the man in front of her was not him but a ghost of who her ex-boyfriend once was: far too dishevelled and dejected, too grey and gloomy, washed out and worried.

Though his head turned to face Nino, and the corners of his chapped lips turned up into a soft, forced smile she could see through it the suffering and pain that he was hiding from his friend. Her thoughtless reaction to the sight was not one she could be proud of. In fact, she grew ever close to feeling ashamed of her opinion the more she thought on it.

_He does not have the right._

He did not have the right to sit there, this far down the line, looking like he did with his lifeless eyes and shaking digits. There was so much he could’ve done to throw this possible outcome aside, leading the path down which he could’ve swam in the rivers of love and lust, hope and friendship.

Instead he _let himself_  get dragged under, sucked into the easiest current of pain and suffered through the ocean of sadness that had drowned him to this point. This state of false smiles and furrowed brows.

He could’ve done something to change this, but instead he did nothing.

Somehow, whilst it depressed and pissed her off further than before, this gave Marinette a feeling of empowerment. For here she was stood standing a woman with prospects, and there he was: a little lonely boy crumpled over against a wall.

She would’ve helped, but first he needed to help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it - as of next week most of my exams are out of the way and I can focus on writing once more. 
> 
> Let me know what you thinks going to happen or what you want to happen next between Adrien and Marinette. I always appreciate your comments :)  
> I hope you have a lovely day.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arguing. lots of arguing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had time to write, so I did it :) enjoy

Adrien’s head turned only to scratch the back of his neck, but as he did so his mouth formed words his mind couldn’t even process in time.

“Marinette,” he whispered, just enough for Nino to catch. She stared at him, unchanging with no intent of moving her bright blue orbs away from his, and although it didn’t annoy him it worried him. “Nino. It’s Marinette.”

The tanned young man shook his head, already smiling at his fiancée as she sauntered towards him wearing a look of slight disapproval. “Adrien, just go and talk to her.”

“But, I—”

“Man, you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Sure, he was right about that, but that didn’t stop the feeling that the world beneath him was quaking more than ever. His head spun and invisible needles burrowed into the back of his neck, endlessly pestering him as green met blue. Surely from the look in her eyes she could tell he was awed, shocked, nervous. If she couldn’t then she must have been insane.

He felt it. Nothing in his brain pieced together right; each crazy piece misshapen in comparison to it’s opposite speck of reason, leaving his mind fuzzy with so many thoughts and feelings but no way to express them effectively. No way to express them at all!

With knees of jelly and a frown to warrant a face-lift Adrien hoisted himself to his feet and slowly dragged his feet forwards. His bag remained hanging limply from his shoulder with Plagg somewhere inside it, almost certainly rolling his eyes and criticising even motion. It almost slid from his shoulder, and it took more focus than it ought to reach up and readjust the straps position on his broad shoulder.

“H-Hi,” he stuttered out, looking down at the woman who’d occupied his mind so often. Awkwardly, he extended his hand, unaware of how one should greet in such a situation. He should’ve expected it, but he still felt his heart drop when she ignored his hand and looked down at their feet.

Feeling compelled, he mirrored her action and inspected the brown that dusted his sneakers. Opposite were a pair of shining, black brogues, perfectly polished within an inch of their lives with pale pink laces weaving through the each eyelet.

Adrien couldn’t help but feel that just Marinette’s shoes were currently better put together than his entire life. Like his own shoes, every fragment of who he was and what he did seemed to fray at the edges—not completely torn away or broken, but far too close for comfort.

“It’s been a while,” he tried again, speaking softly in the same silky tone he always used when she was unimpressed. “It’s good to see you.”

“Mm,” was all she mumbled back. She raised her head slightly, her face a little more fallen than her expressionless look before. Every shade of blue that swam through her irises seemed to go from bright to dull in a mere blink, leaving Adrien staring into an abyss of her disappointment and his own guilt.

“So how have you been?”

“Honestly, Adrien,” snapped Marinette, “how do you _think_  I’ve been?”

The blonde gulped, nervously pulling at his bag strap once again.  “I’d like to say fine, but from your tone of voice I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

Marinette blushed an angry red. “You guessed right. What is _wrong_  with you?”

“What have I done?”

“Very good question.” Her eyes rolled, a frown slowly deepening. “I haven’t heard a word from you in weeks, Adrien!”

“You told me to leave you be; search for something new is what you told me,” he said firmly but his voice rang with immense confusion. “As much as I told you I didn’t want that, you said—”

“And _you_  said you couldn’t give up on us!”

“I can’t, Marinette!”

“But you _did_!”

Though she stood a fair few inches below him, and looked up to join his line of sight, the young woman made Adrien feel as though she was towering over him. With her just narrowed eyes and tensing limbs he suffered through the awfully strange feeling of growing smaller, and with each inch his ego decreased, the louder he became.

He had never been so insanely grateful that so few people gathered in the courtyard this time of day.

Raven hair started to fall into her eyes messily as her persona grew more careless with frustration. “You haven’t called, e-mailed, texted—anything.”

“Mari, I was waiting. I was afraid!”

“Afraid of what? That I’d do more with Chat Noir? Sleep with him, maybe?” Her voice grew progressively reckless and loud, and Adrien had to admit whilst he hated the context and obnoxiousness that dripped from her every word, it was good to see such a strong side of her.

Slowly he shook his head, brushing his own locks out of his face and back over his head. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do! Although I’m not the socially smart man I know you wouldn’t repeat what you did,” he insisted. “Besides, you _know_  I love you, Marinette…”

“Don’t, Adrien,” warned a soft, demeaning voice.

He began to chuckle humourlessly, somewhat unpleasant as he screwed up his nose at her. “Sorry. It’s fine for you to yell to the world that you’ve let Chat Noir touch you up but if I say that I love you. Of course, yes. That’s totally inappropriate.”

“Okay, you’re being totally immature now,” Marinette deadpanned.

“I love you, I love you, I love y—”

“Just stop it!”

It took only the tone of her voice, so high pitched and typically gentle, jumping down the octave to a sharp and threatening rumble as she spat at him to cease his words. The change left him frozen: a speechless statue, helplessly basking in the poisoning sight of her anger and the tears that welled in her waterline.

“Just stop it,” she repeated slightly softer. “Telling me you love me changes nothing does it? At the end of the day we’re still not together, and definitely not on the same page about, well, _anything_.”

Adrien felt his lip quiver before he could consciously stop it. “Marinette, listen. I’m sorry I didn’t fight to keep what we had going like I said but I was scared you’d just turn me away.” 

“Do you really think I would? Sure, I’d tell you to move on because I don’t deserve the care you show me—even when I don’t want you to—but do you think I’d throw away what was, before anything, our brilliant friendship?” Marinette stood strong, her frown deepening further than seemed humanly possible and her eyes swelling with more, harrowingly frustrated tears.

Unable to help himself the young man reached out his hand, itching to feel her porcelain skin against his palm. For a moment she let his fingertips drift delicately across her cheekbone, sending floods of need and electricity up his arm straight into his chest, but it was only a matter of time before her head shook him off. His hand dropped, heart following in quick but reluctant pursuit.

“You do love me, don’t you?” he questioned desperately. “You do, Mari. You have to.”

“I _did_ , Adrien,” she mumbled through a sigh, “but now I just—”

“You _have_  to! You wouldn’t care this much otherwise!”

“Fine,” she said, “maybe I do, but I’m never going to _not care_  about you, Adrien. Not after everything.” Her eyes fell once again to broken sneakers and shining brogues. “We’ve both played about, hurt and muddled each other up too much for everything to be okay anymore; you must realise that, right?”

 _Muddled_. Adrien hated the word. In fact, he'd never hated two syllables so much in his life. He had heard it way too many times in the last year and from the same people nonetheless; so much so everything had started to mix up and muddle even more than before. Seven letters of confusion had wormed their way into his life and wrecked it all, and that wasn’t an exaggeration—not in his head or, more importantly, his heart.

“I love you…”

“Adrien, don’t—”

“ _I don’t care_ if you don’t love me, but I do. After you’ve hurt me and I’ve been so cowardly that I’ve hurt you: I do.” Pushing blonde hair out of his eyes and messily back, falling across his face, the look of sadness and desperation almost reminded her of the looks Chat Noir once gave Ladybug. “Please just listen and believe me when I say that _everything_  is my fault, not yours.”

He could hear Plagg cursing him, either from the bag on his shoulder or somewhere in the back of his mind. Was he really about to do this; become so desperate for Marinette’s trust, acceptance and belief that he’d give away something—no, someone so insanely important to him?

“Adrien,” she chuckled, clearly unimpressed by his apparent ignorance. “How the hell is it your fault that I cheated on you?”

“It’s hard to explain: crazy, even but please—”

“Stop.”

One word told him he was grasping a straws that weren’t even reachable, but that would hardly stop him. “Please stop interrupting me.”

“Just calm down,” sighed Marinette. “If you want to be friends that’s fine. I do, too.”

“I do, but—”

She rolled her eyes. “But you want more than that…”

“Yes!”

Everything about Adrien was strained as he stepped back, overwhelmed by the uncontrollable and sudden urge to fight, like he already should’ve, that suddenly shot through him. Every muscle tensed and his arms were held just in front of him, hands parallel to his rapidly rising and falling chest. It was defensive, pleading, pitiful! From the terrified look in his bright green eyes to the slight shake Marinette spotted in his quivering knees, Adrien was terrible at hiding his nerves.

As he opened his mouth, lips shaping repeatedly to form words that refused to sound, he had to focus heavily to let out the raspy, cautious croak that was all he could manage. “It’s going to sound ridiculous,” he said, “but that night, the one with you and Chat Noir, you know?” She looked at him skeptically, immediately making him question why he even asked. “Well, it was my fault he went to see you.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault that I did anything, Adrien.” Marinette took a few stumbling steps back, almost smiling as she raised her arms in questioning confusion. “I didn’t _have_  to kiss him, touch him, let him touch _me_. I did it because I could, because I had the chance! I did it because I _wanted_  to!” she spat, a cynical chuckle present somewhere behind the façade of calmness.

Adrien froze, his desperate look flattening out into one of painful sadness, and all of a sudden it seemed as though every look he’d given before was just a mask, a clown-face to hide what was truly underneath. This. This gentle, fragile young man—no, _little boy_  who had no idea how to hold himself, handle himself, handle other people.

She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, even if he never helped himself.

“Adrien,” she whispered, reaching out to take his hand with gentle touch and heap of care. “Adrien, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry. I just meant that you forgiving me doesn’t make what I did and _how I feel_  about what I did any better. I’m so sorry.”

Stubbornly, he shook his head, flinching for the first time at the touch of her warm skin. Blonde strand after blonde strand swept into his eyes like hay in the wind, dampened by the rain of hidden tears, but he didn’t care to move it. He let it hide his eyes and the pools that grew every larger.

“I know you wanted it, and I don’t blame you. He’s a flirt and he shouldn’t be.” He sniffed, looking away to quickly wipe his eyes. “But what else can you expect from a black cat other than bad luck,” he spluttered through a wavering but somehow strong voice. “Marinette, I don’t expect anything to change once I’ve said it but I need to tell you something.”

Blue-black bangs fell to the side as she cocked her head slightly. “What?”

“Honestly,” he said with a near on genuine soft smile appearing, “I reckon you’ll just slap me senseless…”

“Adrien.”

He looked up sheepishly, biting his lip. _Here goes nothing_ , he told himself, _time to hand yourself in_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally they've done the sensible thing and just talked to each other, even if it hasn't gone too smoothly. i wouldn't class this as angst, more of just pure frustration.  
> leave a comment on what you think if you can - it really motivates me when I see you guys' feed back :)


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interruption and sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: at the very end, there is a segment which infers suicide.
> 
> sorry it's been so long - my wifi has actually cut out for the last couple days which sucks, and I've been doing GCSEs which are now over. That means more regular updates! Tags have been/will be added with any additional content.  
> I hope you enjoy! :)

There was a shout that scared him senseless. Not a violent bark but a careful and innocent call of her name, so gently pronounced it threw him backwards into a frozen state of alarm. Her head flipped round, eyes snapping from Adrien’s to the man jogging ever closer from the edge of the courtyard.

In an instant Marinette’s eyes widened, struck with surprise and, by the slight tweak of her mouth that he found impossible to miss, it was a pleasant shock.

“Hello Nathanaël,” she said softly, allowing her lips to curl a little more into a soft smile. Adrien’s heart flipped and shrivelled at the slither of joy that graced her expression. The way she looked away from him distraught was bad enough, but that happiness that ducked in at the sight of another man tore him in two.

“Marinette, there you are!” The redhead slung his arm around her shoulder and grinned down at her, clearly glad to see her.

 _Far more glad than he needs to be,_  Adrien inwardly groaned.

Bright eyes darkened and narrowed as Nathanaël better recognised the look that still lay on Marinette’s face behind the dusting of happiness. His arm fell, resting on hand on her side softly and the other on her shoulder. “Hey, are you alright? You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, curtly.

“Really, because—”

“Nath, I said I’m fine.”

Although he didn’t seem to believe her words—and why would he when they were a blatant lie?—the young man dropped the subject, and instead opted to pull her small frame close to him into a tight hug. Marinette gladly accepted it, and buried her face into the orange fabric of the shirt that just covered his collarbones.

Maybe he did it for the comfort a pair of strong arms brought when they circled her, but Adrien knew Nathanaël had somewhat planned the action to spite him; to show him what he’d lost and rub it in his face.

Something as innocent and simple as a hug between friends should not have sparked such jealousy. It was a sickening feeling, like a poison that seeped out of his heart through every artery it reaches, spreading from the aching cavern of his chest to his head, blinding his vision with nothing but negative judgements and hate. He yearned for it to stop, but with every breath he took as the pair remained linked, his scowl was harsher and cut into his brow more.

Adrien took in a sharp breath and fought to keep his voice, calm, collected and friendly. “Sorry, mate, but we were just trying to talk about, um, something and it’s really, bloody important so if you would maybe just give us a minute then…”

“I’m not going to take what you say anywhere, Adrien,” replied Nathanaël as he reluctantly pried himself from Marinette’s arms. “Keep talking, don’t worry. I’m not planning to go behind anyone’s back or hurt feelings.”

Adrien began to seethe. The guy wasn’t even trying to be subtle—he wanted Adrien to know of how unimpressed he was.

“You don’t get it.”

“Adrien.” Marinette’s whimpering voice still seemed to scold him. Like before just one word made his knees weak and heavy. “Grow up. It seriously can’t be so important that you can’t say it in front of him.”

Nathanaël took the tears lurking in her waterline as a cue to speak, and he reached toward Adrien, mouth open and ready to argue.

“I said: Give us a minute, _Nathanaël_.”

“Just say it and be done with it, Adrien,” spat Marinette.

He could feel a laugh brewing in his throat as she repeatedly complained at him over the same false ideal. Say it and be done with it? Saying it would make everything so far from done it was crazy. It was hardly like he could just out that he was Chat Noir and everything suddenly be over; upon the words tumbling out she would have a thousand questions and probably a fair few slaps around the face in store for him.

Not to mention Nathanaël was far too unimportant to know his biggest secret. Hell, Marinette shouldn’t even be told, but things had gone too far!

It only took one more comment and out came the laugh: a single, sudden obnoxious shriek from the bottom his chest that echoed out, attracting too much attention. Adrien’s face flushed beet red with embarrassment as he looked around, trying his best to forget every pair of eyes that was on him at that moment.

Two, however, were impossible to ignore.

Although he was easily taller, Nathanaël's disapproving gaze made Adrien tremble like a little boy staring at a raised cane, waiting for the sting that came with the sudden slap of it’s impact on his knuckles. Of course, it never came, but the suspense rallied inside so that fear rattled through him from head to toe. Adrien could blame it on so many things—the jealousy and worry he had about Nathanaël being so close to the woman he loved; the hurt he felt so see two people he had considered friends frowning at his mere existence—but the belittling nature of the shorter man’s stare burrowed years back into Adrien’s childhood.

Saying that, it wasn’t uncommon for him _now_  to receive the glare down the nose that reeked with disappointment, but that same look was what he’d grown up seeing so regularly.

The day he got eighty-nine marks out of a hundred in a piano examination,  there came the glare for being just one mark off the grade boundary for distinction. Then when the next test came around, the glare came again for being awarded only ninety-two: he was too close to the requirement ‘for it to count’ as the true top mark.

Nathanaël certainly was not his father—he lacked the money, status and immaculate white hair—but they shared the same blue eyes that, while often held a warm and inviting pride, could freeze over in an instant and become riddled with cold, dissatisfaction. The only difference in their eyes was not the way they made him feel or their intentions, but it was his response to them.

He wouldn’t dare talk back to his father as Gabriel would snap him with one sentence, but this guy was in no way tied to him. With this guy Adrien could fight his corner.

The foul chuckle that had provoked all of these emotions still lingered in his voice as he spoke. “Marinette, I _wish_  it were that simple.”

“Oh, Jesus,” muttered Nath under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Come on Mari. You don’t need…this.”

Adrien spat out the laugh again, immediately wishing he could shut his mouth for just a second longer. “What she _doesn’t need_  is you treating her like a baby who can’t speak for herself.”

“I don’t need you two arguing like idiots!”

Marinette’s happy façade had washed away and all that was left in her blue eyes was a hopeless glimmer of tears. Something about the way she glanced angrily from redhead to blonde and back again left Adrien’s body constantly shivering, fighting against his mind to reach out and pull her into the hug she so clearly needed and deserved; even if he wasn’t the one she deserved it from.

“It couldn’t matter any less to me whatever you’re both so annoyed at each other for, but for Christ’s sake, don’t bring me into it. Alright?” she asked. Her voice crackled as her eyes finally settled on Adrien. “So are you going to explain yourself, or what? I have a class to go to and make up to fix because there’s no chance in hell I’m going straight in there after you’ve made me cry this much, Adrien.”

His heart shattered against the paving stones, looking at her face and knowing with every inch of him that he was at fault with no safe way to explain himself. It was _his_  fault Chat Noir had led her on, even if it was not his that she saw it through. It was _his_  fault that they had lost contact; grown apart. Above all else it was his fault he could not call her—this beautiful, strong woman with a heart of pure gold and the most precious sapphire eyes—his own.

He fought for the right words, dodging each filler and stutter towards the a turn in the right direction, but whenever he’d reached the destination he was thrown off path by something or other. The way her dark hair fluffed up and curled demurely across the nape of her neck, or maybe how many freckles dotted across her nose, or the tiny white scar beneath her left eye from a pencil stabbing accident he had only noticed in their most intimate of moments.

Each word in the language became harder to remember, to grasp, to voice. It seemed the only word he seemed to know was the only one that danced and bounced about his brain like the prettiest pinball the world would ever know and it was driving him mad!

“Marinette,” he whispered, weak and useless in all his being.

When his hand reached up to wipe away the few tears that rolled down her cheeks so nonchalantly it hurt to just see, he shouldn’t have been surprise that she swatted away his touch.

She didn’t bother to wipe them, as if she knew the torment it brought him through one glance in his ghastly green eyes. She simply stepped back and shook her head, looking dead in his eyes as she muttered out two words: “Forget it.”

The walk away was hard, but she wouldn’t let him know that. More than the hurt that soared through her or the sadness that lifelessly numbed her whole body she was angry. Angry and disheartened by the abysmal way the pair had treated each other. She had done him wrong, she’d be the first to admit that, but he had played her like a puppeteer who’s strings reached so far it felt like they were non-existent for the most part. Until the handler met his puppet and all true thoughts broke loose.

He did not deserve hate and he did not deserve sorrow, but Marinette knew what she would give him. In her eyes, Adrien would receive from her nothing—no complaints and no obvious emotions: she would simply walk away. Any hurt he harboured after that moment was no her doing but his own in her eyes.

She felt horrible for it, obnoxious and like the most terrible friend the world had ever seen. Still, she would do it for however long she could keep it up.

When she didn’t look back Adrien was only still, a statue who at a single touch would crack it’s brittle stone and hit the floor so softly that nobody would care.

He watched as Nathanaël's lanky arm rose, wrapping around her and pulling her into his body. He wore no smile, just a sombre, sorry look. It was for comfort and apology. Adrien had never rejected an act of kindness so heavily in his life.

“Adrien—”

“What do you want?” he spat out.

A crumbling mess, falling down from just the gentle touch of his best friend’s hand on his shoulder, Adrien stared into dark and concerned eyes. Nino didn’t say a word, only pulled his friend into a hug and tapped him on the back, thankfully not becoming despondent when Adrien didn’t return the gesture.

“I can’t stand him,” he said. “I can’t stand the way he does that.”

Nino sighed. “Does what?”

“Touch her, hold her, make her smile in _that_  way. That’s what I was meant to do. It was my job.”

“And you fucked it—”

“And I fucked it up, yes!” Adrien stumbled thoughtlessly to the edge of the courtyard, towards an archway to exit this beautiful place that now held such revolting connotations to him. “I have ruined every chance I ever had left and now that weedy bastard thinks it’s okay to jump in where he’s not wanted. Nino, can’t he see he’s not wanted?”

Another hand grasped his shoulder, but this time much firmer. He turned to see Alya, frowning at him through glasses that glinted in the sunshine. “First of all, don’t bad-mouth Nath, Adrien. You’re so much better than that and you know you’ll feel bad for it later,” she told him sternly. “Secondly, you might be more wrong than you’d like.”

Frowning, Adrien let his gaze fall to his torn-up sneakers. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, he may be wanted.”

“You don’t mean to say—”

“Mari and I were talking earlier about the way she feels, Adrien.” Alya’s strong, motherly voice was one of the most soothing yet terrifying things he had witnessed to date but now, for the first time, it had him on edge, too. “She still has feelings for you Adrien, she really does, but she’s so hurt by what you guys have been through and—”

He sighed. “Alya, please. I know that. It hurts enough as it is.”

“Right, well. She loves you, but she has feelings for someone else, too,” she added, much more gently, “and chance says that’s Nathanaël.”

He felt like a child throwing a tantrum over a toy, the most perfect cuddly toy he would ever own that he would treat better than anything else in his entire life. Immature and blinded by need, he stormed away, apologising to his friends before he left and hoping that being alone was what he wanted—or at least needed—deep down.

* * *

 

The view from the top of his apartment building didn’t leave much to be desired in the way of beautiful skylines. From up there he could see the Eiffel Tower and more importantly the little tufts of smoke that arose from chimneys and whatnot, leaving him without complaint about what he saw. Besides, the roof seemed as good a place as any to be alone.

Adrien didn’t want to be cooped up. He wanted to sit up here, the wind in his hair and the sight of a darkening Paris straight ahead of him as the sun was slowly devoured by the moon. He wanted the liberation of being Chat without the loneliness of not having Plagg beside him; without the feeling of being someone he envied.

When night had fallen the lights had come to life, dazzling him with brightness near and all the way to the horizon. It humbled him to think that each illuminated window housed a new person, maybe a new family, with a life and issues of their own. He wasn’t alone. He was in Paris, the capital city of his country, smack bang in the city of love with nobody to love him.

He crept forward slightly, cross-legged and a mere metre from the edge of the roof. There was no railing, just a slight raised step of mossy grey concrete, plastered with various spots lichen and staining. It was an ugly speck in a gorgeous place.

But if he looked just past that, over the edge and down to the street below, he was presented with the more calming string of people that evenings brought with them. Unlike the hustle and bustle of mid-day, the road’s business was dying away as the moon grew higher. People still wandered and lingered, cars still drove past just as they always had; it was a regular evening, but Adrien’s senses felt heightened.

Not so much all his senses, but his perception. He noticed how the sweet old lady who lived in the apartment block across from him fumbled with her keys for a good five minutes before she made it into the flat, and payed particularly close attention to a young woman with gorgeously dark hair who strutted her way down the street with purpose and resilience against the slightly chilling wind, mostly as she reminded him of both the two most important women in his life in different ways.

His ears perked up most at the sight of one particular scene outside a bar at the end of the street just after the clock turned ten.

A young man, probably only Adrien’s age—twenty-two—or maybe a few years older, leaned against the wall outside the establishment with a cigarette in one hand and his jacket in the other. His dark hair shrouded his eyes, and although there was no chance of Adrien pin-pointing his expression he was likely stressed. From the speed he went from one cigarette drag to another, he had to be. His foot tapped nervously before he stamped out the fag-butt and rubbed his eyes, slapping his hands against the wall right afterwards.

There was a shout of a name that Adrien couldn’t quite catch, and the man’s head shot up like a rocket. Immediately he straightened up and stepped back, seemingly afraid of whoever or whatever was approaching him, before around the corner flew the young woman he’d observed earlier: the one who was strong and held herself so calmly.

She flung herself towards him and grabbed his hands, her mouth clamping open and closed with each word before, out of nowhere the man dove in, planting his lips straight on hers.

Whatever they were fighting over, hurt because of or bothered by, was put on pause because of a single kiss. As he closed his eyes, Adrien envied them so dearly.

He started to think of what it was like to fall. The way that one second you could look at someone’s eyes and see a happy dusting of friendship, then the next your whole world stared back at you. It wasn’t like in stories, it didn’t happen all at once; not for him at least. First it was the eyes, then the laugh, followed quickly by the incredible way everything she said was like sweet music and even the dull, dampened notes sounded like a whole new symphony he wanted to explore—one he would never finish exploring his whole life.

He started to think of what it was like to fall.

The air rushing against his face, filling his system with the adrenaline that would rocket, peaking so high before it smashed down to an unmovable zero. There could only have been eight, maybe nine stories between him and the sweet relief of never having to know himself again. Only a few seconds to revel in the air against his face and then he could be down on the same level as those two lovers at the bar. All it would take would be standing up and tripping over a single, ugly step and over into a beautiful street of Paris and that would be it.

Bang. No more Adrien Agreste and no more Chat Noir.

“Don’t you dare, kid.”

The kwami’s voice cut through the pocket of silence, dripping with forced humour and sheer worry, and Adrien’s eyes flew open, one step away from the fall he’d imagined so vividly.

He jumped back at least a metre to be safe and began to cry shamelessly.

It was times like these he was unimaginably thankful Plagg was at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed that - as usual we have lots of upset Adrien and angst.
> 
> Let me know what you think and leave feedback in the comments as I thrive off seeing what you all think of what I write - good or bad I'm always so happy to hear about it!  
> Have a lovely day :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ladrien and changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days - hooray!
> 
> Only a few more chapters of stress left and things will die down but, for now, strap yourself in and get ready to ride the angsty pain train through this mess of a chapter.

Plagg perched on Adrien’s knee. “Have I ever told you about the ones before you? You know, previous Chat Noir equivalents?”

The blonde shook his head, rubbing his eyes fiercely as if it would cut off the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. His hands would dart through his hair every few seconds, a nervous tick of sorts, messing it up and looking more Chat-like by the second. He didn’t care one bit.

“I’ve only had one female chosen in the past. She was a blonde and an absolute nightmare, too.”

“Are you saying I’m a nightmare then?”

“Oh, no,” laughed Plagg, “just her. I don’t think women really get me, even if I do get them.”

Adrien let out a gentle chuckle. “Oh, yeah. Of course you do, Plagg,” he said sarcastically.

“Kid, I’ve seen many a Chat Noir deal with love. As of yet, you’re not even the most unlucky, believe me.”

 _Yet_ , thought Adrien. _That doesn’t hold too much hope._

Rising up, the black cat hovered in front of his face, forcing him to pry his fingers away and look directly into his glowing eyes. “You were the first in a while. Ladybug’s kwami and I were on a sort of adjustment period.”

“Why’s that?”

Plagg ignored him. “Still, there’s been many before you, and I’m sure there will be after you, but _you_  are still Chat Noir right now. So don’t get het up on who you are, kid.”

“Plagg, I really don’t get why you’re saying this—”

“Look, I don’t like being sentimental,” started the kwami. “In fact, I hate it, but I’ve seen you. I’ve been with you for years and I know when something’s wrong.” His eyes shut as he turned away, clearly unable to look Adrien in the eye. The young man hardly blamed him—this whole thing honestly felt like the sort of talk he would’ve expected if he’d ever got to meet his grandfather. “You’re angry and you’re hurt, and that’s fair enough because your emotions have been played about with: first Ladybug, then Marinette. That’s down to your mistakes and hers, too. Nothing else.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. He lay back against the cold floor of the roof, feeling the damp seep through his shirt more as each second went by. “Plagg, I don’t need reminding of that. I don’t get what you’re trying to—”

Plagg whipped around, frowning at him. “You’re Chat Noir for a reason. You’re Chat Noir because you’re a good man, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be human.” His voice was calmer than Adrien had ever experienced, and very out of character for his little friend. “Just because you’re a hero and you transform  into someone completely different doesn’t mean you lose who you and it most certainly doesn’t mean you can’t still be you. You’re a human man, you have a heart, a brain, a soul. You care, maybe even too much, but that’s because you’re a good man.”

“Plagg, I don’t—”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be compassionate here. Your obsession with Ladybug was tedious and irritating, but you never let it get in the way of Chat Noir’s heroic side or Adrien’s daily routine.”

A shiver of memory traipsed down his spine. “That was different. She was different to Marinette.”

“You still loved her.”

He couldn’t argue that point.

“You still _love_  her.”

That was hard to argue, too. Somewhere in him he did still harbour the feelings he had for Ladybug, even if Marinette had taken over by a long-shot.

“Adrien, every Chat Noir has had bad luck—it’s one of the ‘ _perks_ ’ of the job—but they’ve all found a way to…overcome it,” he said solemnly. “You’ll do the same, as long as you stop fighting a war against yourself because you’ll never win. Chat Noir isn’t just who you want to be, he’s who you really are.”

The words echoed around his mind as he closed his eyes, rubbing them once more to worm out every stubborn tear left frown his bawling.

 _What rubbish_ , was all he could think. If he really was Chat Noir, not just in person but in spirit, why had Marinette not been satisfied by him? If he was, why couldn’t he be suave when he wanted to be, rather than the easy-going mess that came naturally?

This was something he would fight until the end and was ready to give Plagg a proper earful, but as he opened his eyes he found himself alone on the roof and his kwami nowhere to be seen.

“Plagg?” he called out. “Plagg, where the hell are you?”

“Who’s Plagg?”

He jumped out of his skin, neck cracking as he turned to see the dazzling red suited figure that stood behind him. Eye-level were her thighs, and a blush rushed to his cheeks before even a word could come from his lips. “Sorry!” he shouted. His eyes worked their way up to her face. “Plagg is, um, my cat.”

Ladybug sat down right beside him, looking out at the view. “Your cat? I didn’t know you had one.”

“I do now,” he chuckled, trying his best to hide his bloodshot eyes and immovable frown. “I think he was a stray but he’s been with me the last few days. He was really skinny and lonely; bit like me, really.”

Adrien meant for it to be funny, even though it really wasn’t. Instead it provoked the woman beside him to take his hand in hers and squeeze it reassuringly as a soft and kind smile worked it’s way onto her lips. She really did have a smile like his mother…

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay, Adrien. You look broken.”

“Christ,” he mumbled, “is it really that obvious?”

“Only if you know where to look.”

Before another flustered blush could grace his cheeks, Adrien snapped his head away to look out to the skyline. Just as he was standing up to step forward, he felt Plagg pinch him from inside his jacket pocket and relief soared through him in a single breath.

He primed himself to speak, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans for no real reason, and took another look down at the street below. The couple he’d admired earlier were now sharing a cigarette in an alleyway.

 _Lucky man_ , he thought once again.

“Do you know Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” asked Adrien cutting through the silence with a sharp but shaky voice.

Ladybug nodded. “She’s a friend of mine.”

“She’s broken my heart,” he said taking yet another step forward, his back to the young woman. “She’s broken _me_ , in fact, but I deserve it. Oh, blimey, do I deserve it! See, most importantly, I’ve hurt her and lied to her and completely ruined everything. Today I had what feels like my last chance at redemption and I completely fucked it up because I was stupid and jealous and now she has feelings for another man. Holy crap, what is wrong with me?”

“Adrien, don’t be silly.”

“Be silly?” He let out the same obnoxious chuckle he had earlier—the one that had earned his father’s disapproving glare from Nathanaël. “Ladybug, I’m not silly: I’m an idiot! I am so helplessly in love with her and what have I done? Ruined myself and ruined her opinion of me.”

A soft sighed floated from the air behind him. “I’m sure she could forgive you if she just told her the truth.”

Adrien turned on his heel, just a few steps away from the edge and looked down at her, directly into her eyes with his. They almost glowed like neon green again the darkness of the night, unnerving but somewhat alluring to her. “Ladybug, have you ever been in love?”

“Yes,” she stated calmly.

“Have you ever been fucked over by the one you love?” She didn’t have to answer when he saw her eyes flicker to her feet. “So you know the pain of that. Now imagine living with the guilt of being the person who’s done that. Then, all the while, everyone around you tells you that you’re a good man; that you’re not to blame.”

“I know how _that_  feels, too, Adrien. You aren’t the only one.”

His expression softened considerably, and his mouth contorted into a silent apology. She didn’t know how she was supposed to continue the conversation, and almost felt it her cue to leave, but seeing him here—just a few steps away from falling—it felt like man slaughter to go her own way now.

A long silence passed. A silence in which his eyes trained only on his shoes and Adrien flexed his hands to the point where his knuckles were beyond white and grey. Ladybug felt like all she could do was sit there and watch, in awe of the man she still cared for so deeply, longing to tell him everything that she—that Marinette thought of his mindset.

“I used to love you, you know?” he blurted out, a slight, quivering laugh in his tone. “I used to be completely infatuated with you until I met Marinette, and by that I mean _really met_  her. There were girls I liked and thought were good for me but nothing ever came close to you for some reason. Then I saw Mari and everything turned around. I suppose in her I saw a little of you, not just in looks but personality.” He raised his eyebrows and genuinely smiled for the first time in a while. “Not that you aren’t great, but Marinette is perfect. Strong, independent, talented, beautiful, compassionate and so, gorgeously clumsy—she was the perfect counteraction for me and my bad luck.”

“Bad luck? You’re _Adrien Agreste_  for crying out loud!”

“Just because I’m wealthy and intellectual doesn’t mean I can’t be unlucky and dumb.”

With a smile, Ladybug tapped the spot beside her, a little more at ease seeing the tears in his waterline air dried by the venting of his emotions. When he sat down beside her, the girl behind the polka-dots couldn’t help resting her head on his shoulder. _Just for old times sake_ , she told herself.

It felt both horrible and loyal of him when he did nothing in return.

“Marinette’s into another guy now, though,” sighed Adrien. “I can’t stand the bastard; he’s far too talented and he worships the ground she walks on.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“For them, I suppose so.”

She shimmed a little closer into his side. “What’s his name?”

“Nathanäel something or other. You know, I just realised don’t actually know his surname.” 

“Don’t change the subject. It’s okay to be upset,” Ladybug giggled. “Did Alya tell you that? The red haired girl?” His head shot round to look at her with a frown that told her: yes, she did. “Well, ignore her. Marinette is definitely not into Nathanäel, and she told me so.”

Weight seemed to lift off of Adrien’s shoulders at her words, leaving him a little jollier and resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Well, I hope Chat Noir gets her, then. After everything that happened you’d think I’d want him off the face of the Earth but I’d honestly rather him than Nathanäel.”

“You really hate him _that much_?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Plus, it’s my fault Chat went to her that night in the first place—don’t ask why—so I’d feel sort of better if something came of that incident rather than her ending up with someone else if that makes any sense.”

“Why is it your fault?” asked Ladybug, her delicate fingers tracing circles on the back of his.

“I really can’t tell you. I can’t even explain _why_  I can’t. Sorry.”

Ladybug’s body shuddered with a laugh. “For a second there I thought you were going to say you were Chat Noir…”

Her voice seemed forcefully jokey and almost scared behind the strange front she put up, but Adrien simply laughed. “That’d be dandy, wouldn’t it? Oh, I wish.” He sighed. “I wish…”

And he really did.

“Don’t wish to be him, Adrien. He’s a total idiot.”

“Is that why you always turned him down?”

“I always turned because I was scared and he probably didn’t know what he was saying.” Her fingers slotted in with his. “You, however, are sincere and compassionate which Marinette loves.”

“Chat is too,” argued Adrien, a bit too blatantly defensive of his alter-ego, but Ladybug didn’t seem to pay much notice. “He knew every word he said to you was true well before he said it. He’s my friend, remember? I know him well.”

_A little too well._

With a smile Ladybug shook her head. “It’s hard to explain, but you’re brilliant in ways that Chat can’t beat and believe me when I say Marinette knows that, too. I promise.”

He seemed to hold back for a while, but out of nowhere came the grip on her hand, shooting pains up her arm and burrowing into her shoulder. Like needles the spotting spread and increased with every little prick beneath her skin. It was horrible, it was driving her crazy and she would’ve cried out for him to let do if it weren’t for what she saw.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the tears falling unlike she’d seen from him before. Marinette had seen Adrien cry, plead and shout in many a situation, but never had she seen sorrow at this intensity. Her heart began to ache as she turned her head, reaching up to hold his cheek with her free hand comfortingly. To her surprise, he didn’t shrug her off. Instead, he turned to face her; eyes dripping with pain, irises split and washed out but still holding so much life.

It was life that didn’t want to be there.

How one minute a man could hold this in like it wasn’t there, then the next let it all go was a mystery to Marinette, but one thing she knew was how much she hated to watch him suffer. Earlier she had told herself to leave him alone—ignore him and let his emotions play out once she had left him—but that had ended the moment she decided to check on him whilst patrolling.

Now here she was, past the point of no return and staring into the same beautiful green eyes that so often made her melt.

“Adrien, you’re not alone, you know?” she whispered, endlessly wiping tears from his sharp cheekbones. “So many people care about you, including me.”

He stubbornly shook his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Nobody matters more than her. If she doesn’t care then nothing matters to me.”

She giggled. “Oh, shut up, drama queen. You’re too romantic.”

“I can’t help it,” he sobbed. His arms clung round her waist like a baby, scared, crying and in need of protection. “I’m so in love with her it hurts.”

Marinette didn’t see the harm at first. With him pushing her back just the tiniest bit it opened up access to her lips, and his heart pumped impossibly fast as he leant in, closing the gap slowly and uncertainly. As his lips finally met hers she barely hesitated before kissing him back, her hands flying to his hair just as they always would.

It was rough and quick, hungry and desperate but in no way seemed passionate. She knew that on both sides of this kiss were two people who, though they cared deeply for one another after everything, held other’s hearts closer who were dearer to them. That didn’t mean she relished the taste of Adrien’s chapped lips any less as the moved against hers in seamless, perfect motions. 

But suddenly he stopped.

Pulling back Adrien’s eyes were red and wide with terrified surprise, and as he stole away down the stairwell, repeating a heartbreaking “No, no no…” over and over, Ladybug felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu alongside a long list of anxieties, each of them as terrible as the next.

One: she’d done this, once with Chat and once with Adrien. Two: she’d used her secret identity as a mask to help him, but instead had only messed with his feelings even more. And three, most terrifyingly: from the look in his eyes it was very possible he had figured out who she was.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself, looking around the rooftop. “I’ve got to call him the minute I get home...”

* * *

 

“What is wrong with me?” he screamed, throwing against the wall yet another decorative pillow. “Plagg, please explain to me why on _Earth_  I just did that.”

Plagg faltered. “Um, because you were—”

“Because I’m an absolute moron? A prick? A unexplainable asshole?” Adrien clenched his fists and threw off his jacket. “Take your pick: any curse word will do just fine!”

“Adrien just calm—”

“You want me to calm down? Plagg, be serious—do you actually think that’s possible?”

The little black cat floated higher up, above Adrien’s eye level as if it would provide him with some miraculous status. It failed. The look in Adrien’s eyes was just as ravenous and desperate, anger flushing his face the brightest shade Plagg had ever seen. Sweat dripped from his brow and his blonde locks did little to soak up the perspiration, leaving his hairline riddled with moisture and gross to the touch.

Green tore through the darkness, caring so little of everything other than the seeking to meet the cat’s gaze. It was terrifying, even though he knew Adrien would cause him no harm, for he was reminded of the night the young man had first lost it with him about a month prior.

Every now and then, though only in his vision, the green flashed a ghostly grey, sending a shake through his tiny body. It took him years back to a time he wanted to forget more than anything in his life, but it seemed the feeling were coming back; not as a haunting but a sequel to this horrid memory.

“Adrien,” he hissed, his voice raised but calm, “I know you’re confused and your mind is messed up, but you are Chat Noir. Remember?”

For a second Adrien seemed to click back into sanity.

“Chat Noir isn’t just who you want to be, he’s who you really are!”

Sanity coming back didn’t mean he wanted to smack the little cat any less as he spouted foolish nonsense.

“You’re brave. Please. Don’t make me watch this again, Adrien.”

His nose screwed up and he aggressively pulled at his hair. “Watch what?”

Plagg’s expression hardened. “You’re going to feel cold; really cold, both inside and out. It’s going to hurt, kill in fact, if you don’t calm down.”

“Plagg, just shut up, alright? You’re being useless and senile and—”

Then came the scream. First his eyes widened, slowly glossing over with a sickening jolt of horror and going from dazzling green to a sheer, icy blue. For a moment he was blind, flailing his hands as if to turn on some light that would return his vision. But the pain wouldn’t let him more long.

It seared through him, throwing him to the floor. As Plagg had told him, for whatever reason his body felt like ice, and every singe of the frozen feeling burnt his flesh. He tried to call out, writhe and cry to end this state of barbaric pain, but his voice would do nothing but squeak and groan. As his body went through hell to freeze over his mind did not rest. With every prickle came the jamming of an icy thorn to his temple, over and over again, leaving him a mindless and ruined mess on the floor.

Plagg was not left unscarred. The picture of the young man he cared for in such agony tore him up inside.

“Plagg!” he finally croaked out as the pain began to subside, his vision blurring as it slowly shifted into a drousy focus. “What the—Ah!”

He stared at the white that cloaked his hands through the strands of platinum hair that stuck, immovable from his vision and the claws that seem way sharper than he’d ever remembered. Blinking did no good to regain the colour he expected to see. The black was gone, the white had taken over.

“Adrien, listen to me. Try and fight it!”

It was no good. As his eyes locked on the cat above him, every sane thought in his head flew to the back of his mind, falling into an unreachable chasm along with all of Adrien’s self appreciation.

That was the only thing of the change that hadn’t caused him any physical pain, but it was the thing that hurt Plagg most of all.

With hitching, hopeless breath, he stuttered through the words his spoke as his eyes locked with this different young man for the first time, knowing his intentions and certain he stood no chance at stopping him alone. “Please, I beg of you: don’t get yourself killed.”

The sharp voice echoed through the night, ruined and angry. “I won’t promise something I’m sure to break.”

 _Chat Noir isn’t just who you want to be, he’s who you really are._  No. Such false hopes were useless now.

Chat Blanc didn’t smirk like Chat Noir; he only frowned before jumping through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go. How was that for you? I can already hear a load of you going "oh god she's done THAT and ruined it" but trust me - I know what I'm doing and I aim to please!!
> 
> Let me know what you think of it and what you want to happen now - whether it's through kudos or comments or whatever suits you best, I just like to know your thoughts! <3


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which mari meets chat blanc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so it's been a long time since I updated because life has been hectic and my laptop has been crashing and internet not working.
> 
> Still, I'm back now and ready to board that angst train again. (warning: blood and cuts)  
> I hope you enjoy! :)

The phone kept ringing, on and on, the same mind-numbing beep echoing through her ears time after time. Each playing of the automated message struck more guilt and worry through her body:

“Hi, this is Adrien Agreste. I don’t need to tell you what to do—just leave a message I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

Marinette knew that if _she_  left a message he would do one of two things. Either he would jump right on it the moment he saw her name flash across the screen or, more likely after what she’d just experienced, be too heavily tasked with beating himself up to bring himself to respond.

Still, she kept trying, not knowing whether the young man was busy or simply ignoring her. All she needed was a conversation, a sentence, just one word to tell her that he was okay. The Adrien she knew would not do anything irrational but in time he had changed, leaving her now in the dark of anything he was capable of doing.

“Please pick up,” she urged quietly as she dialled the same number for the tenth time. Her fingers tapped anxiously against the fabric that coated her thighs before gripping the arm of the swivelling chair. “Come on, come on…”

As the recording cried out again she slammed her mobile against the table, whimpering through the silence of the still night-time air. The breeze drifted in and  twiddled the hair that laced across the back of her neck. While it made her shiver, it was somewhat comforting; a presence where there would otherwise be no-one but her and Tikki.

It made her feel less alone.

Exhausted by her efforts Marinette swung round, rubbing her eyes as the chair spun to face the corner that had been behind her. Directly in front of her was the blanket, and beneath the blanket lay the painting.

Her breathing slowed, her heartbeat altering with a sudden jump every few seconds as she stared, dumbfounded, at the shape mere metres away. It had been a long time since she’d looked at it, or at least it felt that way, and she was surprised she hadn’t thrown it into a skip somewhere down her street by now. For weeks it had provided nothing but a stinging reminder of the incredible man she had broken, lost and, in the end, been ignored by.

She knew the guilt that would be eating away at him at that moment better than he did—kissing Ladybug was the last thing he needed to do to calm his mind—but nevertheless she was selfishly happy that he had. Not because she wished upon him the same burden of self-hatred that had overcome her after her time with Chat Noir but because, for one last time, she got to kiss him.

It killed to look into those emerald eyes when every ounce of her wished for her heart to sway his way. How could it be that as hard as she tried to love him more than anyone else _he_  wasn’t the one who occupied her thoughts? 

But he did! He did occupy her thoughts, every minute of every day but the feelings were always outweighed by someone else: some dumb, idiot in a black suit who probably thought as much of her as a king does for an arrogant stranger.

Chat Noir was no king. He was no king, but he was Paris’ prince of the night. Hell, not even Paris’; _hers_ , Marinette’s!

As kind and alluring as he was to her, Marinette knew that deep down he was nothing less than a force to be reckoned with. It was if she forgot that the man was a superhero—maybe not in day to day life, but that meant nothing. Chat  was powerful and popular and sometimes, when she imagined that endearing smirk shooting her way, she would melt at the thought of him. Maybe it was just her who saw that man and fantasise. Visions of him, his smirk, his body—sex personified—were thoughts that too frequently overwhelmed her.

Yes, she did forget. She always set aside that he was snarky, that he was stubborn. Most of all, she set aside that he was a stranger.

So why was it him over Adrien? Adrien Agreste: the handsome and loving man who’d done nothing but care for her in the time that they had been together and even before that.

He was, by all accounts, a safer bet and Marinette liked safe. Safe was harder to lose, harder to ruin, and easier to protect. However, in the end, nothing had been easier to do then lose and ruin what they had. It had vanished in  flash of green light, leaving that cat-eared devil smirking in the place where her loveable, physics dork had once been in her mind.

Her stomach was doing loops as she thought of Adrien: for the first time in a while, both of them eating away at equal portions of her sanity. Frozen, she dwelled on the moment they’d shared on his rooftop and the many times they’d woken side by side in his bed.

She let out a great sigh.

Sluggishly, but with incredible purpose, Marinette hauled herself to her feet and shuffled towards the corner of the living room. She reached out, hooking a fingernail though a slightly pulled loop of the cover’s fabric and began to pull it towards her. Dust spread out as the blanket moved away from the wall and gushed up into a choking cloud as it landed at her feet with a soft _thump_.

The brush strokes were beautiful. The way the skyline was so incredible but so unimportant made her heart race and how there seemed to be movement in his lab coat and every strand of blonde hair still amazed her. It was by far the best painting she’d ever done and her new favourite.

She’d got top marks for it’s content, quality and preparation. But she knew that wasn’t why it was her favourite.

It was her favourite because it was _him_.

Ignoring the flush on her cheeks was hard, but the ignoring the tears that blurred her vision was harder.

“It really is a lovely painting, Marinette.” Tikki’s voice was a high-pitched hum in the silence. “You should be proud of yourself and how far you’ve come.”

Marinette nodded, letting a few tears burn hot tracks down her cheeks. Staring at the painting only made the burn more ferocious but there was no turning away now that she’d begun. She didn’t dare to look away, watching with hope of the impossible: that maybe, if she stared enough, the movement of brush strokes would become real. He’d turn around, lock eyes on her and smile just as he had once she’d taken the picture she’d referenced. And then he’d run to her and engulf her in his arms. All pain and problems would be irrelevant and non-existent when he’d look into her eyes once more. Green would meet blue before lip would meet lip and life would be great again.

She studied the back of his head, feet planted and heart pumping, urging the figure to come alive as it would in her vision, step out and hold her.

But that was a hope too unreal. It seemed she had been staring for so long that the movement of the paint her professor had praised had disappeared. Now, just as it had always truly been, the image was still.

Paris could hear the breath hitch in her throat as she held back a sob, she could tell.

In that moment it was undeniable. She might’ve loved Chat, but Marinette missed Adrien Agreste more than any words would describe.

“Nice painting.”

Her blood ran cold at the sound of a voice so familiar, but it held such a sinister twinge it almost urged her not to move. “Chat?” she mumbled into the air.  “Is that you?”

Cautiously, she turned her head, dreading yet somewhat excited to see the black-clad hero smirking as he leant on her windowsill.

But he wasn’t.

Marinette’s cold blood turned to ice. Her movements, while still cautious, were more careless as she shuffled towards her desk chair. “Chat…”

What she was seeing was impossible to believe. Stood firmly in the centre of the room, limbs stiff and legs apart in a strong stance, the man stood almost robotic and covered in sheer icy white from head to toe. Not only was his suit the wrong colour, his hair had shifted from gold to platinum and his eyes from green to grey. The look of him was nothing more than a blank slate, colourless and—more worryingly—lifeless.

Chat’s eyes held no happiness. All they seemed to be full of was the dark, sheltered by a harsh frown accentuated by the way he held his head. His eyes trained dead ahead, boring their way into her mind.

He glared—no, it wasn’t a glare, and if it was it wasn’t meant for her. When he looked at her she saw sadness and anger, but neither of which seemed to be meant for her. Still, whatever that look was, it was menacing enough to intimidate her, making her push back. As her chair pressed against the wall it felt as though he was creeping towards her, but his feet didn’t move.

He was still anchored to the ground, his fists tightly clenched and his eyes still doing whatever it was that made her hair’s stand on end.

“What’s wrong?” she tried meekly.

“Wrong? Everything’s wrong. That’s why I came to you, Princess.” His voice was the same as ever: smooth, silky but now almost sinister.

“Who are you?”

“I’m just me,” he said. Clearly he could see the way she recoiled at his words and as he advanced towards her step by step. He cocked his head to one side sharply, animated like a human puppet being forced to move. “What’s going on, Mari? Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asked, hissing through gritted teeth.

Desperate, that’s what he was. Desperate for response, recognition, reconciliation—but why she couldn’t tell. “I thought you loved me. Ladybug made it sound like you loved me!”

“No.” Marinette shook her head. “No, this isn’t right.”

“No, _what_? No you’re not happy to see me? No, you don’t love me? Have I got it all _wrong_?”

“I love Chat Noir!” she spat back, trembling in body and voice. “But I don’t know who the fuck you are. I want to say you look like him but nothing about you is the same but your voice, and even your tone is all wrong. It’s just so wrong!”

The man shook his head, the frown on his face deepening. “Why won’t you just love me? First you don’t love me, and now you won’t love _me_  either. Why won’t you just fucking love me?”

A breath hitched in her throat at his screaming pleas. “That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t make any sense at all. Look, whoever you are, you’re not making any sense…”

He ignored her.

“Marinette, are you scared of me?” he asked, his voice far too calm in comparison to his last few words. He still etched closer slowly, but she knew in moments he’d be right before her.

She wasn’t ready for that.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“ _Who are you_?” She broke down the sentence, whispering each word as slowly as she could but her voice did not stop shaking as he moved in. Marinette closed her eyes, dreading the moment that he’d lean over her and grab her by the neck, and she found herself wincing at the pain of his claws in her skin before it came.

It didn’t. Not yet.

Her eyes flew open to find the young man at her feet, knelt down, looking up at her from under the same tortured frown…and for some reason the fear and worry subsided. She didn’t flinch as his hand moved toward her face, nor did she stop him when his fingertips gently grazed from her temple, down across her cheek to her lips. The preciousness of his touch was golden, even while it felt poisonous on her skin.

“Chat Noir?” she tried at a whisper, trying to ignore the way his thumb’s touch on her bottom lip grew harsher.

He looked straight into her as his hand held her neck, claws digging in but not quite enough to hurt. She had thought he had no malicious intent, but from the way he held her, threatening to crack the porcelain of her neck, she was no longer sure. It was then, in the most menacing voice she’d heard from him he spoke again:

“Chat _Blanc_ , not Noir.”

Something behind his eyes was crying out for help, cursing all the things he said and did. But perhaps the scariest thing of all was what he didn’t do.

Not once did he smirk.

Chat Blanc was a blank canvas, and she wanted to paint him as what he should’ve been. She wanted to paint that smirk back where it should be and erase any traces of that scowl, put black where white was, gold where the platinum fell. She wanted to give his eyes feeling.

But as his grip tightened, she lost all her confidence and all the fear she’d harboured before flooded back a thousand times faster than it had gone. Each breath became faster, shallower, more laboured and forced, as if she had to think about keeping her body working.

It wasn’t long before Chat Blanc noticed the tears that spotted her waterline, causing him to shove his face right in front of hers. With his hand still clamping her neck he hissed into her mouth: “Don’t be scared. Love me. Please!”

Marinette couldn’t help the sobs escaping and pushed him back, tearing his claws from her neck. She could feel the trickle of blood from the scratches down her neck resting like a reservoir in her sharp collarbone, but she didn’t take action.

“I can’t just love you because you want me to!” she stated confidently through her voice’s tremors, “I love Chat Noir and I’d say I love Adrien Agreste. But you, Chat Blanc…”

Those eyes—those misted, grey eyes that were so blind to how feelings work and confused—remained unchanged, the person behind them so clearly stuck in a prison of mental anguish. She felt sorry for him, so supremely sorry for him, but that made her no less scared.

“You terrify me…”

* * *

 

Plagg wasn’t there to see him do it, but he saw the rivers of blood on her neck.

He hadn’t made it in time to shout out to Chat and plead him to stop the madness and stress he was offloading onto the poor girl. But he had to admit, even if he did, he wouldn’t have been much help. Chat Blanc—or Chat Noir or even Adrien—would never listen to him at this point.

Plagg _was_  there to see him begging at her feet, her sobbing as he cried silent tears that seemed to vanish until they hit the floorboards with a tiny crash through the quiet. Marinette could do nothing but shake her head, her face scrunched up with terror and her arms tightly hugging her chest. It was impossible to block him out as he wailed, moaned and stuttered, repeating himself like a madman.

It flashed by so quick that Plagg could barely register it.

He grabbed her wrists and screamed for her to love him. She cried that she was sorry, that she couldn’t, that she wouldn’t. He pulled her towards him, moved closer to her. She apologised again and again, far too afraid to move on her own accord anymore. He held her cheek, emotionless, angry and nothing like the lovable and alluring man she knew. She cried harder and harder…

But Plagg did nothing to stop him. There was nothing he _could_  do: he was nothing more than a tiny cat who’s power was ultimately controlled by the madman in front of him. As much as he wished and wanted to reach out and help he was frozen at the window, mouth agape and praying he’d soon stop.

He watched as Chat kissed her. It was rough and forceful, unexpected and unwanted. In seconds Marinette shoved him away, slapping him full across the face. Thankfully she needed no words to get him to step back, for she couldn’t speak through her quivering lips as she drowned in her own tears.

Chat Blanc cowered away towards the window. His lifeless, angry face was wet and red from the pain she’d caused him, but his voice was unmistakable when he choked out his last words. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered in the same way Adrien always had when his father shouted at him as a boy. “I’m so sorry.”

With a flash of white he was gone across the rooftops to God knows where doing God knows what.

The memories were killing Plagg, and reliving every minute of a past pain left him too weak to find the boy himself. He wanted to—no, _needed_  to help him, but he couldn’t do it alone.

Plagg rushed in and hovered in front of Marinette, glaring down at the red on her neck as Tikki frantically pressed tissue into the wounds to soak up the blood. Traumatised the young woman barely seemed to notice him until he finally placed himself on her knee, carefully.

Her blue eyes, wide and still recovering, focussed on the little black cat like a camera. The world around became fuzzy as she tried her best to calm herself, listening to Tikki’s gentle encouragement from beside her, and eventually she began to breathe properly again.

But the black kwami still stared her down, his little green eyes focussed on her and nothing else. He looked scared, he looked frantic, he looked _damaged_.

“Plagg?” Tikki mumbled into the still, silent air, hoping for an answer to what was the cause of his worried stare.

For a moment he closed his eyes, taking in deep breath after deep breath, before they snapped open once again. Somehow they seemed so much darker—no longer were they luminous but instead a dark, forest green. His lock on her gaze was captivating and Marinette had to admit she felt almost hypnotised.

“ _Please_ ,” he said desperately. “Go after him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's been a while since I've last written something intense so bear with me.)
> 
> I really hope you liked that - please let me know what you think cause I thrive off of feedback from you all. When I know what you think it always revs me up to write more!!
> 
> A lot will be explained in the next chapter, and I PROMISE that you won't have to wait long at all for it. I hope you have a lovely day/night! :)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> complaints, realisation and guilt galore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is damn short in comparison to other chapters but explanatory and quite important.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

“What?”

“I said, _go after him_.”

Tikki almost dropped what she was doing to scold him. “You can’t be serious, Plagg. Look what he did to her already.”

“What he’ll do to himself is going to be much worse if we don’t do something to stop him,” urged Plagg. “Ad—I mean, uh, Chat isn’t just physically different: he not in his right mind.”

“Plagg, please: we know that already,” she said, as calmly as possible as she continued to soak up blood. “She’s not in the right state to go helping anyone but herself.”

An obnoxious snort came from the cat, but no humour showed on his expression. “Nothing new there. She never seems to be helping anyone but herself these days.”

“Oh, grow up!”

“You _know_  what she’s done to him already, and you _must_  know that she way more than completely obliged to help him!”

“Can’t you see that she’s hurt?”

“Can’t _you_  see what’s happened to him?”

“Can the pair of you please just stop it?” Marinette’s weak voice cut through the shouting pair as if it was a roar. She took the piece of tissue from Tikki’s tiny hands and started to gently dap it herself, grimacing at the constant throbbing. The cuts themselves weren’t severe or large, but had bled out as if they were fatal. She definitely felt a little light headed but it was nothing water and ibuprofen couldn’t fix.

She frowned as Tikki floated down to rest on her other knee beside Plagg and focussed once again on the little cat. Clearly, he was Chat’s kwami—the look of that was clarified by the way Tikki spoke to him as if they’d known each other for years. And, by the sounds of how old she was, they probably had!

“You’re Chat’s kwami, aren’t you?” she asked, even though she knew that answer.

“Of course I bloody am! Now can we hurry up and help him?”  
“If you’re so desperate, go yourself! Marinette doesn’t need to be put through any more pai—”

“Just stop it!” Marinette interrupted, pointing through the archway. “Tikki, can you please get me some antiseptic and a few plasters? They should be in the middle cupboard over there.”

Tikki obliged, nodding before zooming into the kitchen and leaving Marinette and Plagg alone.

Without hesitation she leaned in and bit down on her bottom lip anxiously. “Do you know where the akuma got him? Chat Blanc’s akuma: what’s it inside?” Her voice was desperate but was still nowhere near the level of distress Plagg’s voice had held when he first spoke. “ _Why_  was Chat akumatized—”

“He wasn’t,” said Plagg, flatly.

“But that wasn’t Chat Noir. That was different. It has to be an akum—”

“He’s not akumatized, Marinette.” To prevent her straining her neck, the black kwami floated up into the air, in line her face when she sat up. “It’s impossible for miraculous holders to be akumatized.”

“But he—”

“He’s right, Mari.” Tikki butted in, setting the supplies her chosen had asked for on the desk beside her. As Marinette reached down for the antiseptic to treat her wounds, the little bug kept explaining. “You know that you and Chat have the powers of creation and destruction? Well, the power of _your_  miraculous would purify the akuma instantly, just as Chat Noir’s would destroy it the moment it entered.”

She winced. “I suppose that makes sense, but then what’s wrong with him? Why has he become—”

“ _Because of you_.”

“What?” mumbled Marinette. “I don’t understand.”

Plagg laughed that same bitter laugh again and carelessly flew from her knee to the centre of her desk. “Of course you don’t. All the things you don’t know and what you don’t understand is _killing_  him. Ladybug cracked Chat Noir’s heart time and time again before she finally broke it and you know it. That night you had on that roof where you first kissed him and then ran away? I don’t think you know the impact of the future implications that moment caused him. He formed a completely new civilian life to forget about you and he was happy! In fact, he was the happiest I have ever seen him be.” There was a pause of nothing but awed silence and the odd whimper of pain from Marinette before he spoke again.

“Then everything changed. That night that you stood up Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir came to see you something changed in him,” he hissed. “I’ve barely seen him smile since.”

“Why?” she asked, pressing a plaster onto one of her cuts.

“I’d think that was obvious, sweetheart.” His voice was unpleasantly snarky and cynical. “He messed up his relationships with both you and Adrien. Now his awkwardness and worry that you’d never accept him again has left him in limbo and it’s killing him—broken him.”

Marinette sat, speechless, and covering the final cut up. She couldn’t fathom how that was her fault but Plagg’s eyes were so fierce she daren’t defy him. For a creature the size of her palm, he was intimidating.

The more she processed his words, trying her best to avoid the daggers he shot at her, the more it clocked in the back of her mind. Chat Noir had kissed her and she had kissed him back, let his hands roam her body and the overwhelming emotions of lust seep into every pore. He had, in turn, broken up a couple—her couple—which must’ve done nothing short of riddling him with guilt. He was Adrien’s friend after all and, as much as she felt bad admitting it, Adrien didn’t have all that many friends.

_I kissed him back that night…_

Yes, she did, but how that made it all her fault she didn’t know.

_I turned him down time and time again…_

But he was her partner. He was used to that, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that just how the playful, flirty banter between them had progressed?

_I entertained giving him a chance, just to throw him back down again…_

She did that, too, on the first night. That she couldn’t deny. Yes, _that_  was _her fault_.

“Nice painting,” Plagg said, his cutting through her mind like a trembling blade. “Shame _he’s_  broken, too.”

Her head snapped round, eyes once again on the painting and on the blonde’s head. How he knew she wouldn’t ask, but there was no denying that Adrien was broken as the kwami had said. In the courtyard, on the roof; she had seen him his face was sullen, his beautiful eyes sunken in and impossibly deep with feeling. Now that she thought long and hard about it, it came as no surprise.

Adrien’s situation seemed as intense as what Plagg had explained Chat’s to be, just without the craziness of living two separate lives. She had stood him up, left him with another man, denied his forgiveness when she should’ve basked in it, and ran away from him when he finally cried out to her as she’d hoped; for help nonetheless!

Now that she thought about it, whether she had cause Chat Noir’s life to spiral downward or not, she had certainly played too much with Adrien for him to still be fine.

Chat Blanc was the terrifying current matter, but Adrien’s health was her top priority. It always should have been. When they were friends she would listen to him moan about the stress of his PhD and comfort him until the smile was back on his face. As a couple nothing would come between her and holding him close, head against her chest as he vented all negative emotions to her as they lay in bed.

For some reason, when they split up, she just stopped. She didn’t stop caring—never would she stop caring—but it was as though she refused to acknowledge his pain, selfishly focussing on her own worries and stress, in turn never truly seeing the extent to which her closest friend was hurting.

Because, whether he was pissing her off, ignoring her or kissing her senseless, Adrien was still the best friend she had aside from Alya. He meant the world to her and she’d taken him for granted.

She knew if their roles were reversed he’d be at her side, comforting her through his own grief and trying his hardest to right all his wrongs just as she should’ve been. To make it all worse Nino had been missing in action: missing in action along with Alya as an act of love nonetheless.

Marinette had dropped Adrien into a lonely pit, all alone and struggling. If he tried to communicate she would complain, not reach out for him. If he didn’t call out she’d grow angry, complaining he wouldn’t try. Either way he was always trying to do what he thought best to both make her happy and get him out the pit. She thought she’d just watched and booed him.

Now it seemed she’d stuck up her middle finger and thrown him a shovel.

 _Shit, Marinette_ , she cursed herself. _What the fuck have you done?_

She gulped, swallowing the bile that stubbornly lulled at the back of her throat. Why did it always take her too long to realise? She was smart, she should’ve known.

Instead of being thrown straight into the water and struggling through to reach a safe spot, she had edged deeper and deeper by the day without realising she was drowning. And now here she was, staring at the back of Adrien’s head, feeling the guilt rush through her body—feeling it choke her.

_Adrien, I’m sorry…God, I hope he’s okay._

“Plagg, you go and find up with him.”

Blinking hard, Marinette saw past her jumbling thoughts to see Tikki grab Plagg in her arms for a reassuring hug.

“Don’t stress. We’ll catch up,” she said softly. “I think I’ve got some things to explain to Marinette first.”

Plagg muttered something before he rocketed off. One small black cat against Chat Blanc was hardly enough to make a difference, thought Marinette. But surely Plagg knew that, too, as he whizzed out into the night and across the rooftops, leaving Marinette and her kwami in a still silence.

It didn’t last long before Marinette let all her thoughts jumble out.

“I hurt him, didn’t I?

“I don’t get it,” she squeaked. “If Chat’s just guilty for what he’s done why was he begging me like that? Why would he—”

“Marinette, I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did but I don’t. All I know is that we need to help Plagg help Chat, okay?” It always worried Marinette when Tikki spoke like her mother and now was definitely no exception. “Do you still feel lightheaded?”

She nodded passively. “Tikki, why is Plagg _this_  worried?”

“You think I wouldn’t be worried if the same thing happened to you? He’s his chosen—as horribly abrasive as Plagg can be he cares an awful lot about Chat. Just as I do with you.”

“But it’s like there’s something more than that,” she mumbled, rubbing the stubborn remnants of tears from her around her eyes. “It’s like it’s happened before.”

The little red bug sighed, collapsing on Marinette’s knee and tapping her fingertips together anxiously. “That’s because it _has..._ ” she said solemnly, her gentle voice trailing off at the end. “Only once, but it didn’t end well at all.”

“It was Chat Noir that time, too?”

“Yes, and I’m certain it still bothers him. Plagg, I mean. I know it bothers me what happened to him and her.”

“So you mean that Ladybug—”

“You and Chat Noir are a team and I know you’d do whatever you could to help him, even if you _weren’t_ in love with him. You're close and you're two halves: it's quite beautiful even if it is reckless,” said Tikki slowly. “So I suppose we couldn’t blame her for getting involved…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well now that Mari has realised she's honestly been a bit of a bum and that Adrien needs to be checked on, it's time to delve into Tikki and Plagg's past miraculous holders...which will probably be a very looooong chapter which is why I wanted to put this up separately.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it - I'd love to hear what you think of Mari's realisations over the last few chapters and what you reckon happened in the past to scar Plagg so bad. You know I LOVE FEEDBACK
> 
> Have a lovely day/night <3


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mari learns a little bit of back story and pieces together a few things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has taken a while to happen. Not as long as I expected, but I hope you enjoy Ch. 17 as much as I liked writing it.
> 
> We've got a mix of 1st and 3rd person...but I'm sure you'll be able to tell who's narrating :)  
> Enjoy!

The last Ladybug and Chat Noir were last seen about twenty-eight years ago: one female and one male respectively just as you and Chat are now, Marinette. Their names were Celeste Durant and Fraiser Henshaw, just to let you know.

Fraiser, the young man behind Chat at the time, was foreign. He came over from England on a whim to study here. Admittedly, I don’t know very much about him, why he came and where from, but I can talk endlessly about Celeste.

She was such a bright girl; so sweet and kind but cheeky, too. It’s almost the opposite of you and Chat are now with her and Fraiser. He was always the serious one and the one who formulated the plans because he was smarter, and Celeste always followed him without fail. The amount of trust she held for him was incredibly, and she held him accountable for all their incredible feats. Usually he was embarrassed, so it was her job to be the spokesperson of the pair and she was good at it.

Celeste’s mother was a journalist and often interviewed her daughter behind the mask which was quite sweet, but it also was quite a problem keeping her secret. Her dad was less of an issue. He was a respected butcher and overall the family lived comfortably.

Meeting Celeste was probably the most thrilling of all my first encounters with my chosen. I miss her terribly, Mari. You would’ve loved her. Anyway, I remember exactly how it happened. I hadn’t been out in about five years because the miraculous’ guardian—Master Fu, do you remember him?—hadn’t found anyone suitable for either my or Plagg’s powers. It wasn’t the longest time we’d gone but I was itching to get back out.

When she opened the box she was almost eighteen, so was older than you were but she was cutely childish that was safe to say. As she put on the earrings on her balcony she immediately ushered me inside after she nearly fell over the railing. Just like you she was quite clumsy—the best of you usually are. There wasn’t a look of fear on her face or even surprise, which was strange. It seemed more curious than anything else as she lifted me in her hands.

I examined what she looked like immediately. Her hair was a deep auburn and fell straight, just skimming the tops of her shoulders. She had beautiful deep green eyes that always seemed to be smiling, just like her rosy lips. All of my chosen are beautiful, but her face is so ingrained in my memory that I just can’t shift it. Every freckle is another imprint as I blink, whenever I think about her. 

“I’m Tikki,” I told her, smiling, “I’m your kwami.”

“My kwami?” Her voice was quite a low pitch, but soft and smooth, holding a purely feminine feeling. “What on earth is that?”

Of course, I explained, just as I did to you, about who I was, what I meant and what she was meant to do. Celeste was over the moon right away, so overly excited about everything she’d be able to do and see, and it was only an hour or so before she suited up and was out onto the rooftops. She was climbing and jumping as much as she could, laughing away the evening as she leaped from place to place.

But suddenly she stopped dead.

Leaning on a chimney, basking in the lights that lit up the Eiffel Tower was a young man dressed all in black. His hair was such a deep brown that without the countless lights it could’ve so easily been black, and the scruffy mess fluttered in the wind.

I had told her she would have a partner but that I had no clue who they would be and what they would be like. There was no Hawkmoth back then, but there were many criminals too quick and savvy for law enforcement to track or catch. It wasn’t easier or harder than what you and Chat do now, but there was never just one enemy.

Co-operation was the key to everything. Whether they were male or female, younger or older, useless or remarkable she knew she’d have to work with them no matter what doing whatever problems came up.

It seemed she hadn’t expected him to be handsome.

Although she couldn’t see behind the mask, it was clear that Celeste thought he was attractive the moment he turned to smile at her. When he spoke in that smooth, deep voice so calmly as he always did, there was a foreign twang to his voice. His French was perfect, I must say, but the odd word would give away his accent was forced.

Celeste didn’t seem to know what to say to him, however. From what I remember she just stood there and marvelled at the way he spoke with such intellect and used such beautiful words she felt she’d never even heard of.

She wasn’t in love with him—not yet—but she respected him from the very beginning.

* * *

 

“Tikki?” Marinette said, rubbing her eyes as she rested her elbows on the desk. “We don’t know how little time we have and we need to help Chat. You said you don’t know much about the man behind the Chat Noir of then, but can you re-cap what you _do_  know and _quickly_.”

Tikki nodded, apologising before jumping back into her rambling narrative.

* * *

 

The two of them grew very close, very quickly and without giving away who they were they learned more about each other every day. Celeste fell more in love with Chat Noir every day, even on the days he was completely silent for whatever reason.

Celeste was only a little younger than him—about a year and two months—but was terrified of what he’d treat her like if he knew she was younger. She was worried he’d baby her since he already lead the way on everything (even though that was just because he was smarter), and hated the thought of things being any different.

On his twenty-first birthday Chat had asked for nothing, but had his world flipped.

For whatever reason, that night Ladybug pulled him away into the dark and away from town to an old place she’d not been to in years but knew nobody would find them in. She smiled and bit nervously on her lip telling him: “Don’t freak out and don’t tell me off, okay? You don’t have to do the same once I’ve done it.” I could tell what she was doing and from the look on your face you can to.

By the end of the night she hadn’t just given away her identity to him and admitted her feelings but she had been shown who he was. By the end of the month he was spending night’s at her house. Nothing was rushed or provocative—Fraiser was too cautious and sweet for that. But some nights he’d stop by and sleep at her side and just hold her, clearly falling for her, too, in time.

It was very sweet and soon they were together, but like I said I never really got to know Fraiser as much as I should’ve. However from what I learned about him one thing was incredibly clear:

Fraiser Henshaw was ultimately the unluckiest man I’ve met _ever_  and it still stuns me how he remained so positive most of the time. So it really came as no shock, however horrible, when he finally broke.

After a few years he started to act odd…all weird and distant until one day he just changed. Changed completely, like your Chat has now. Fraiser was my only previous encounter with Chat Blanc.

Celeste was terrified. Not just for what he could’ve done to her but to what he could’ve done to _himself_. It was horrible day but that’s all it was. The next day he was gone, out of their lives forever.

Only a few days later Celeste resigned as Ladybug, so from then on Plagg and I were back with Master Fu until we met you and Chat. Her final miraculous cure erased all memory from everyone except herself that she and Chat Noir ever existed.

* * *

 

Marinette frowned, turning his head to look into the big eyes of her little friend. “‘ _Their_  lives’?”

“Yes,” replied Tikki, her soft voice solemn and sad. “Celeste and their child.”

“They had a kid?”

“An unborn baby.” Tikki fought to ignore the look of upset shock that took over Marinette’s expression at her words, knowing that she’d soon cry at the memory of her previous Ladybug. “They must be about twenty-seven now—I know Fraiser wanted to name him Louis after his late brother and I’m sure, knowing Celeste she went through with that…”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to watch the sadness that had set in on the red kwami’s face. Seeing Tikki on the verge of tears was horrible and something she had rarely witnessed. This was maybe the second time and it was like watching a bunny rabbit commit murder—being anything less then calmly smiley was strange for Tikki. Marinette was so used to her being this tiny ball of optimism and happiness that this wipe away of her joy was enough to make her feel a little sick to the stomach.

Feebly, she smiled, reaching out to run her thumb across the top of her soft head. Tikki returned an equally weak smile, closing her eyes to rub away the tears that were weighing her down. “I wonder what he’s like. Louis, I mean,” she mumbled. “Knowing Celeste she wouldn’t have brought him up as Louis, it will have been Lou. She was a sucker for nicknames.”

Marinette froze, her body tensing as she racked her brain.

 _No_ , she told herself inwardly. _It’s a crazy hunch, don’t get ahead of yourself_.

“I wonder if he’s mild like her or crazy smart like his father…”

_Or is it? You never know, it could be. I won’t know if I don’t try and find out._

“Tikki, what did you say their surnames were again?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears as she spun to look at her computer screen.

The kwami frowned, still wiping her eyes. “Celeste’s was Durant and Fraiser’s was Henshaw.”

“So they didn’t get married?”

“No. They were engaged but that was before he…why are you asking?”

Her fingers tapped furiously at the keyboard, before searching and scanning search results for the correct site followed by one specific page. “Aha!” she hissed, punching the mouse button one final time. “Come on, come on…”

Tikki watched in confusion as her chosen intently stared down a long list of names on the monitor, seemingly looking for something as she mumbled the same incoherent words under her breath. All of a sudden she jumped to her feet and began to tie back her hair, a look of determination stronger than the little bug had seen in a long time glinting in her eyes.

“Tikki, we need to find Plagg and secure Chat, but we have to check on Adrien before that,” she stated. “Then we’ve got someone to see who I need to ask some questions, because they might be the best chance I’ll get to understanding what’s really happening.”

“What? But about—”

“Tikki, don’t worry.”

“Please, Mari. I know who Chat is. It would make things so much easier if I told you—”

“No, I can’t know. It’s for _him_  to give away not you.”

Tikki grimaced and grabbed Marinette’s sleeve helplessly. “The fact you don’t know is going to confuse you, Marinette. Please!”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” She nodded curtly and allowed herself a gentle smile. “I’ve got a job to do. Tikki, transforme moi!”

Cloaked in her spots for the second time that night, Marinette darted through the window and jumped out into the night leaving behind the highlighted text on her screen. One line and one name in the centre of an alphabetised list on the website of the university she attended:

**Prof. Louis Durant-Henshaw PhD, (Department of Physics).**

* * *

 

Ladybug arrived on the roof of Adrien’s building in a flash, her heart beating faster than she could ever recall in anticipation of what was happening. Whenever she was up here the lights always seemed to catch her eye, and the stars would glint brighter with every glance she stole to look up at the dark blue blanket of the night sky.

But tonight things were different. Tonight she cared not for the beauty of the stars or the glittery surroundings of her city. All she cared for tonight was the two blonde men who she’d wronged so immensely over time.

Adrien was only a few stories below her, hopefully in his bed sleeping and getting the peace and quiet he deserved however hard it would be. It was idealistic to hope that for him though, she knew that. Ladybug knew better than anyone the feelings that plagued you after kissing someone on a whim. Both as Ladybug and herself, Mari had kissed Chat Noir when she was with Adrien, and those were things she still kicked herself for. As Plagg had said, if it weren’t for her then this mess would never have come about.

She owed both of them more of an apology than her stubborn nature would be willing to give, but she’d swallow whatever pride she had left when this was all over and do it no matter what. That’s what was right, after all.

Hastily she heaved open the door to the roof, fleeing down the stairs and into the top corridor. She dashed towards the elevator pressing the button constantly until she flew into the tiny space and bashed the floor number. It felt like an age before those shiny silver doors finally crawled open and her stomach was doing somersaults again, bile creeping up her throat at the thought of Adrien not being safe from Chat Blanc.

Her feet couldn’t move fast enough as she lurched towards his front door, grabbing the handle and shaking it viciously.

“Adrien!” she called out, slapping the wood with her palm. “Adrien! Are you in there? Are you safe?”

There was no response. The somersaults stopped, dying away into the pit of her stomach with all the built up guilt and fear that was threatening to drown her.

“It’s Ladybug! Adrien, please open up!”  
“He’s not in there,” Plagg said frantically, worming his way between her and the door. “Adrien’s not in there but Chat didn’t take him either. He came here but couldn’t find anything.”

Ladybug’s breathing was fast and shallow, leaving her light headed as she panicked. “He was here? So you saw him? Did you talk to him?” Her voice was more impatient than the kwami’s now she had no conformation of Adrien’s whereabouts and safety.

The black cat nodded, moving back towards the elevator. Ladybug followed in quick pursuit.

“What did he say? Oh, Plagg please say they’re both okay.”

“He didn’t say anything, I just sort of talked _at_ him,” Plagg responded, wincing. “He understood me or at least I think he did. I thought it was a lost cause but he was nodding at me so I think—”

“ _What_  did you tell him?”

“I told him to not be irrational in his actions, and that you—Marinette—wanted to speak with him in the morning so you could talk it over. It was a spur of the moment thing but I think it did the job.” His tone was almost sarcastic, and Ladybug could tell if it weren’t for the situation he probably would’ve been laughing. However he frowned as he settled on her shoulder in the elevator, clinging on as they went up to the roof. “There was something strange about him when I said it, though. It was like, for a moment, he was himself again and not this…other guy. When I told him he had been given a second chance to make it up to you and make it right, he snapped was almost normal.

“Behind his eyes I could see a conflict. There was some kind of warmth fighting the coldness of Chat Blanc in his head. Something is going on in there and I fucking pray that he’s not conscious and having to sit and watch with no control.” He paused, collecting himself as they pressed on, darting to the roof. “We need to save him.”

Ladybug bit down on her lip. “Yes. Save him and his humanity.”

“He has his humanity, Ladybug, that’s what I’m saying,” pressed Plagg. “I’ve known this guy for years and _I_ _know his eyes_. Chat Blanc’s are not his, but on occasion when I spoke his eyes were _real_. The look of desperation was not the one Blanc always wears, it was the one I saw Chat wear when he had his heart broken and had his father lie to him time and time again…”

When his voice trailed out and his eyes shut, Ladybug knew not to pester Plagg for his thoughts. She could see the tears swelling in the corners of his little green eyes and feel the grip he held on her collar tighten. Hearing about the way Tikki spoke of Celeste and whatever had happened—she still didn’t fully understand—left her only imagining quite the horror that Plagg had felt back then. As much as her kwami had focussed on her chosen since she knew so little of the young man, it was _his_  chosen who had been through this ordeal and was ‘gone’. To think that he had to face it again…

Ladybug didn’t _want_  to think that. She didn’t want Plagg to think about it either. The only things she was interested in right now were saving her partner from the cold shell he was trapped inside and helping Plagg keep the sanity he was so clearly losing.

“So,” she said, cutting the silence, “Chat Blanc ran off after you spoke to him, I’m guessing. Did he say where?”

Plagg shook his head. “He didn’t say anything except he was so sorry in that same way he did to you after he kissed you,” he sighed, “but since he’s deliberately beating himself up mentally I think I might have an idea where he’s headed.”

“And where’s that?”

“Head straight ahead a few streets then turn left to the one with the huge gate and railings…”

The mental map with the massive destination marker on it drowned out Plagg’s voice instantly.

_No, but that’s…_

“…and it’s got huge walls and one of those annoying intercom things. Do you know the place I’m talking about? It’s obnoxiously obvious.”

She took a deep breath. “The Agreste Mansion.”

As Plagg hummed in agreement, Ladybug could feel her hands start to shake. Why would Chat Noir going _there_  cause him mental anguish? Chat had said he was friends with Adrien so did he hold some strange grudge or have some huge beef with Gabriel like Nino did for a short time in their teenage years. That was one of two possibilities that came to mind.

The second one? She didn’t want to even entertain the second reason she could think of, but the more she thought about it the more things matched up in more places than she wanted.

Ladybug was piecing together things she’d always pushed aside without a second thought, and she tried to push it away once again. Even if she had managed to by the time she placed her feet on the final rooftop, the thought had now started. It was looming and it was something to tackle later: much later.

For now, she had a cat to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more backstory about Celeste and Fraiser from the mouth(s) of someone who understands it more in depth, don't worry.
> 
> What did you think? You all know (broken record) that I love to hear what you think so please do let me know your opinions of everything in the comments and your predictions. Feedback inspires me to write more :))
> 
> Thanks for sticking with our dorks this long through this absolute mess of their lives - you all deserve medals! Have a great day :)


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled: the guy who suddenly became important to the plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter so far I think (4,277 words) which I know isn't that much but yeah.
> 
> I loved writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy delving deeper into the Ladybug and Chat Noir of the past...

As her feet landed with a _thump_  onto the pavement, Ladybug’s vision snapped straight ahead of her. The light of every streetlamp seemed to bounce towards him, shining a shameful spotlight on the bright white figure in the middle of the dark street. His obnoxious suit attracted as much attention as it could, almost absorbing any light it came into contact with as if he needed visible light to keep the darkness of his feelings overwhelming him. 

It was almost two in the morning, and she was thankful that the streets were so bare.

Having to explain Chat Blanc to anyone would be a nightmare; partly due to the fact that Ladybug herself had no real understanding of him. If they had to encounter anyone she wanted to keep it to a minimum, but the preferred number would remain to be zero.

Still, it was inevitable that someone would spot them whether it be from a window or someone they ran into on the street.

Plagg clung tighter to the fabric on her neck as Ladybug approached the young man ahead of her. He wasn’t cowering, he wasn’t afraid. As shaky as his paws were, his eyes were narrow with determination. Fear played no part in this anymore, worry had to be hidden away and saved for later so that nothing would stand between him and doing what he couldn’t do before:

Stopping him; saving him.

“Don’t move, Chat,” said Ladybug firmly, her voice strong but gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He didn’t respond, she just saw his body twitch slightly as he feebly pawed at the railings of the entrance.

“I don’t know what you have against this place but I’m begging you, Chat—if you can hear me—stop this madness.” She watched as his shoulders began to tremble, knuckles gripping the railings so tightly they could’ve snapped at any moment. It made her almost afraid to keep talking. What if one wrong word slipped out her mouth and in replace of those railings was her neck in his hands? “I understand that you’re angry and I understand it’s my fault but please just—”

“Angry?”

Chat Blanc turned his head slowly. As his hands left their position on the gate they began to shake like there was a gale force wind. His platinum white hair obscured part of his face but left his eyes, wide and watering, staring straight at her.

“You think I’m _angry_?”

 _No_ , was her only thought. Because she didn’t.

He looked ruined, broken, distraught but those eyes didn’t hold anger. They cried without a sound through the silence, a man trying to hide his sadness from her like so many men she knew would try to do. Nino had famously said, “It’s cool to cry, but there’s a time and place.” She might not have considered it at the time, more focussed on the fact that Adrien was holding her close with his face buried in her hair, but it was what seemed to apply to many of the men she knew.

Adrien had cried to her in the past. More importantly so had Chat, if only to Ladybug. It wasn’t new—she knew he cried—and it wasn’t like even a street’s worth of Parisians were there to witness it. So why would he be holding back, forcing shut the flood gates when he must’ve known there was no need?

The answer was simple if she’d have only thought of it: Chat Blanc was in control.

Ladybug shook her head. “No, I don’t. Chat, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve messed with your head and Marinette’s sorry, too.” She took a cautious step forward, hand reading out for him as if she really thought he might take it. “You’re scaring me. Not because I’m afraid of you, but because I’m afraid of what you might do to Chat.”

“I _am_  Chat!”

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “ _My_  Chat…my Chat wouldn’t act like this. He might’ve laughed through his tears, but he wouldn’t admit he was broken. My Chat, Chat _Noir_ , has been through so much bad luck and yet he has never let me see him phased. God, now I’m cursing him for it because maybe then I could’ve helped him, stopped this from happening. Maybe if I had just done what I should’ve I could’ve stopped you!

“Chat Noir, I know you can hear me.” Her steps became more self assured as her strides grew. With a frown, through parted pink lips, she gushed and begged in the sweetest voice she could: “Please, chaton. As bad as things are, please don’t let this…this depression control you. When things get tough, you used to laugh. Now I know that’s hard, and I can’t expect you to always smile for the both of us but please…it’s been too long since I saw you.”

For a moment his expression warmed. It was still unnerving but it gave them hope that she’d made a start at cracking Chat Blanc’s icy barrier.

Plagg let go of her and with a sigh he lurched forward, mid way in the gap between her and his chosen. “Kid, I know you don’t care but you’re terrifying us. Ladybug and me, yes, but _her_ , too. Marinette, remember? She loves _you_ , Chat Noir, as much as you don’t believe it and if tomorrow she meet with you to find it’s the same…” He paused, wincing as he spat out the poisonous word he wanted to use least of all. “If it’s the same _monster_  that meets her as left her bleeding, what chance do you have of winning her over?”

Chat seemed to soften even further, but closed his eyes. The ongoing war in his mind was growing tougher and tougher to keep fighting, but every word he processed dealt yet another blow at the opposition. He couldn’t show it, but he could feel himself gaining a small amount of control.

“She loves you,” Ladybug repeated what the kwami had said. “She really does. And all we want, all _she_  wants, is for you to stay safe and to see you smiling.”

Suddenly his breaths became laboured, shallower and faster, as if he’d sprinted a marathon in a split second and just arrived back. His eyes shot open, a hint of green shining through their icy cover, and Plagg jumped to attention.

“I haven’t got long, my lady,” said Chat quickly. He stood up straight and reached to grasp Ladybug’s outstretched hand but his joints seemed to stick leaving her to do the rest of the work as he almost screamed in pain. His hands were freezing. “Take me somewhere where I’m not a threat: not to you, to myself and especially not to Mari. If I hurt her again, I don’t know if I could live with myself.”

_So he did snap out of it momentarily before he left. That’s why looked so suddenly different…_

“In all fairness, kid, this other you doesn’t _want_  you to live with yourself.”

“I really hate to say this, Plagg, but please _shut up_.”

Ladybug watched the kwami smile slightly as she pulled Chat by the hand and started to rush along the streets as best she could with her stiff partner. “How long do you reckon you can hold on like this?”

“Not long enough to get me home, I’m afraid. I’m stubborn but it’d take a level of it I’ve never known to keep fighting this horrible—Ah!” He fell to the floor, body contorted impossibly. Every few seconds he would writhe in pain, tensing every muscle and muttering over and over: “No, no no! Stop!” Wincing and crying…it was too hard for Ladybug to watch, especially knowing there was literally nothing she could do for him.

But she had to do something. There was so little time that she couldn’t take any chances.

She lifted the squirming man into her arms, heaving him off the pavement and moving as fast as she could towards the only place she knew that could keep him safe close by.

“My lady, I—”

“Don’t speak,” she insisted, eyes dead-set on the horizon. She held him close, placing a soft kiss on his forehead and hoping it wouldn’t be the last time she could. “I’ll sort it out. I’ll put it all right.”

_Or at least I’ll try my hardest…_

* * *

Now Marinette was doubting her actions, almost falling off the kerb on her way to the university at five-fifty in the morning. Last night she’d hardly slept a wink after leaving Chat alone behind the bars of a police holding cell. The only information she’d given was that he was by no circumstances to be let out or given anything, but as yet another trip into the road jolted her wide awake, she had to ask the question yet again.

“Plagg, are you sure he can’t get out?”

The cat inside her jacket hummed in response.

“But what about his cataclysm?”

Solemnly the kwami sighed as she finally looked down at him. His eyes fluttered shut and he buried himself further into her pocket. “He…tried it when he was in Adrien’s apartment. Before you arrived last night.”

“You mean he…”

“He tried it on himself, yes.” Plagg clasped his paws together and took in a sharp breath. “It failed, thank God. Since he’s not actually transformed he doesn’t have me which means he doesn’t have my power either.”

“So he is just a civilian in a costume?”

“Exactly.”

“Then we should be okay leaving him a little while long,” Marinette muttered under her breath so the newspaper-boy across the road wouldn’t question her talking to herself too heavily. “We have long enough to ask a few questions.”

Plagg huffed. “Why exactly _aren’t_  we going straight to help Chat?”

“Because I need to figure out what happened twenty-seven years ago or however long ago it was. I don’t want to put all the stress of information you and I need to know what happened to Frais—”

“Please, don’t say—”

“Plagg?” Tikki’s soft voice was muffled by the barrier of fabric Marinette’s handbag created. Although neither of the two could see her, just the sound of her voice was enough to calm them just the slightest bit. “It happened and we can’t ignore that. Even worse, it’s happening again but Mari is trying to fix it which is something Celeste couldn’t do. If you don’t co-operate there’s no way we’ll be able to save him.”

He wanted to co-operate and he would, but that didn’t make him any less confused as the young woman rushed through the entrance to the science block of the university and down the empty corridors. The countless times he’d been down these halls you’d have thought he’d have caught on; he was a smart cat. But instead all he could focus on was the surreal nature of the place.

All he knew it to be was alive and busy, full of students going from place to place and buzzing with the hum of constant chatter. Even from inside Adrien’s backpack it breathed. As he floated out from Marinette’s jacket to join Tikki in her handbag it was nothing but dead. No noise, no people, no life. Just the same walls and doors, stairs and name-plates on every door.

He hid away. He wanted to focus on the living right now.

Marinette busted her way through countless doors, head snapping from side to side and dark hair flailing in quick pursuit as she studied the names on each door until she finally spotted the right one. She smacked her hand on the door to heave it open, groaning at the force required to move it the slightest bit.

 _No wonder Adrien’s strong_ , she thought, _if he has to power through this door regularly._

The room wasn’t as big as she’d expected. For some reason, having spent most of her time in her professor’s preferred art studio even when a lecture hall was necessary, she’d imagined it differently. Two walls were covered with writing although only one was meant to be. A huge chalkboard donned one expanse, littered with scrawls of words and numbers Marinette struggled to make out, while another pristine white wall has been ruined by the permanent marker that had similarly smeared across the whole thing.

Books were piled high in one corner, all tatty and dog-eared to death by the looks of them. A box of chalk large enough it seemed more suited for a gymnast or climber than a teacher sat beside it. Unlike most rooms she’d seen there was no desk, just an amorphous lump of stuff in the same spot as the books on the floor  that seemed to house a scruffy black jacket and a rucksack amongst other things.

There were steps up to the back and about five rows of wooden benches—not half as many as she’d thought—and right at the back, nose buried in a book and feet up on the desk, was a young man.

Lou’s hair was black on first glance, but as Marinette stared, the artist in her could pick up the warm brown tones in it. He squinted through thick glasses frames as he chewed on the end of his thumb, taking it out of his mouth only to swiftly turn a page. His youth was shocking to her and somehow he was exactly how she’d imagined him from Adrien’s descriptions.

“Hi there. Marinette, I assume,” he said nonchalantly when he finally looked up. “How can I help you at—” His blue eyes flashed down to his watch and back. “—six in the morning?”

She frowned, stepping further into the room and nervously adjusting her bag’s strap. “How do you know my name, Professor?”

“Just Lou is fine. The same way you know me, I bet: Adrien Agreste.” Lou snapped the book shut and hopped to his feet. “He’s why you’re here, isn’t he? Have you two sorted everything out yet?”

“No,” she mumbled with a blush, “we haven’t. But that’s not why I’m here.”

Lou raised his eyebrows, smirking with intrigue. “Oh?”

_Boy, does he smirk like Chat…_

“So why are you here then?” he asked politely. “Quality relationship advice? A cheap attempt at cheering you up? I can promise you only one of those I can help you with and it isn’t the useful one. You might want to take any real problem elsewhere unless it’s science— _that’s_  my thing.”

It wasn’t hard to see why Adrien raved about him so much. He was a terribly nice man and certainly witty.

Marinette took in a deep breath. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something really quite, um, _weird_.”

“Weird I can also do,” Lou replied. His smirk only grew as he hopped down the steps and threw the book in his hands to the bundle of stuff in the corner. “Fire away.”

“What do you know about Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

She should’ve expected it, but was rather taken aback when he started to laugh. “Are you some kind of reporter? If you want my scientific opinion on how the hell those guys work then I hate to disappoint you but I’ve got nothing.”

“No,” she said calmly. “I mean about the existence of them, especially before now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to know what you know about the previous Ladybug and Chat Noir around before we were born.” Marinette started to turn beet red, ashamed off herself for pressing the man like an eye witness to a crime.

“How old are you?” he responded, clearly avoiding her question.

“Professor—”

“Lou,” he corrected automatically.

“—my friend needs help, _please_.” She knew her desperation wasn’t just creeping into view but throwing itself there without hesitation. There was no  point stopping it. “I know you know about them, so please help me.”

The young man adjusted his glasses and gave her a nervous laugh, eyebrows raised and hidden behind dark, scruffy bangs. “I’m sorry, love, but I really can’t help you—”

“You mother was Ladybug, wasn’t she?”

There was a silence. Marinette took it as her chance to keep talking.

“She was, wasn’t she? And your father was Chat Noir. Please don’t deny it because I know it’s true.”

“Okay,” said Lou, running a hand through his hair and turning his head away. “I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in or what the fuck you’ve taken but: one, you’re barking up the wrong tree; and two, where can I get some?”

She could only roll her eyes. “I know I’m right!” she said stubbornly. “I can prove it if you really want.”

“Oh?” As nice as Lou was and however calm as he was acting when he was clearly flustered, there was a certain pretentiousness that dripped from his voice when he made that one sound and Marinette wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Yes.” She reached into her purse, and she could practically feel Tikki screaming at her to stop her stubborn recklessness as her fingertips grazed over her little red head. But that didn’t stop her scooping her up in her palm and holding her out. “There. Familiar to you?”

Tikki stayed dead still almost like a toy. Lou only frowned. “Marinette…c’mon, love—”

“Stop with all the niceties,” she said, her voice stern as it quivered with nerves. “I’m Ladybug, just like your mother was.”

“Marinette, listen.” He frowned a little, concerned, and his outstretched hand almost held her forearms to calm her before she pulled away.“I don’t know if you’re serious or if you just think so because you’re high or even sick, but—”

“Celeste.”

Lou froze, saxe blue eyes widening at the name. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Celeste Durant. Your mother’s name, right? That’s what Tikki said to me,” Marinette told him gently.

She lifted her hand up and finally he started to let his guard down, inspecting the little red bug in her hand. He reached out, ready to poke her on the forehead, but Tikki jolted away before he could.

“Excuse me,” she said, flying up into his face and frowning. “You need to learn some manners.”

“Tikki…” Marinette tried to slow her, knowing it wouldn’t work. She examined the look on the young man’s face noting how Lou looked so confused yet somehow enlightened.

“Tikki.” His voice was soft but certain.

He held out his hand slowly, as if he was asking the kwami to set down on his palm like any other creature might. Now he seemed so gentle and calm even whilst his mouth was gaping with surprise. Tikki did fall into his hand, still looking up at him with her mouth in a straight line.

“It’s amazing,” she whispered.

“What is?” Lou replied, voice as normal as if he did this every day.

“How you’re exactly like both of them—the perfect hybrid.”

The young man smiled. “What’s truly amazing is that I got to meet you? Mum said I probably never would unless it was by some sort of miracle.”

By the look on his face, Marinette could tell he was fighting to make a joke about the word ‘miraculous’. It really wasn’t any sort of mystery why he and Adrien got along so well.

“How is she?” urged Tikki, eyes wide and locked on Lou’s.

“How is who?”

“Your mother, of course! How is Celeste? Is she still in Paris?”

Lou leaned back against the desk behind him. His eyes drooped, closing a little as his focus went from the kwami to the watch on his wrist. “She, um,” he faltered, speaking with a voice that Marinette was sure would crack. But somehow he kept it low and calm, smiling sadly as his eyes surfaced again from his thoughts. “She passed away several years back, actually. She was sick and we couldn’t pay for treatment. But you know my mum; even if we could’ve she wouldn’t have taken it.”

A little gasp came from Tikki, but Marinette stepped in to speak, gnawing on  her lip. “She must’ve still been quite young…”

“Not quite fifty,” Lou replied, rubbing his neck with his free hand, “but she acted like she was still in her thirties. She was happy when she went—never stopped smiling even through the crap.”

“Sounds like her,” said the red bug said solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me!” He chuckled, setting Tikki down on the desk and stumbling towards his blackboard. “It’s nobody’s fault and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”  
Mari set down her bag on the bench, setting her behind on the table in front of it. Her eyes flickered to the zip of the bag, wondering whether Plagg was paying attention or if he’d fallen asleep like he’d hoped. Since there was a hum of a complaint as she dropped the back, she assumed that he had been sleeping but was now awake.

“So what did she tell you about Ladybug and Chat Noir?” she interjected, trying to move the conversation onto where she had first intended and away from the sadness of losing a loved one.

“Oh, lot’s of things. I never believed any of them until Ladyb—well, _you_  and Chat Noir came about. I’m a man of science: facts, proof and certainty. The idea of any real superheroes, let alone my parents being them, wasn’t even given a second thought by teenage me,” he said with a smile. “Bloody hell, did she rub that in my face?”

Marinette blushed with a soft smile, wishing she’d not given away who she was. Now this man knew a secret more important than any other she could think of; one that even Chat Noir didn’t know.

“She told me all about Tikki, her little friend, and how she was so kind and supportive.” He smiled and shut his eyes, blissful in his thoughts. “And also about dad’s little guy: Plagg. Apparently he was excitable. Always lively and cheeky, ganging up on my dad with Mum’s help to get him to have some fun and lighten up.”

Lively, cheeky and excitable? That sure as hell didn’t sound like Plagg to Marinette.

Lou opened an eye as he directed a smile at the red kwami in front of him. “I really would’ve love to have met him as well as you, Tikki.”

“Urgh…”

All eyes flicked down to said black cat as he hauled himself out of the bag and into the air, paws stretching out. “What’s the matter, kid?” He yawned and looked at Marinette with confusion, assuming she was the one who’d said his name in his exhausted state.

Why they were in Adrien’s lecture hall he had no idea but he took the opportunity to look to the back of the room and the benches: all he’d ever paid attention to before. Having to always hide was a pain, leaving him blind to what it all looked like. The walls, the objects, the _people_ …

He froze. “Fr…” Glowing green eyes narrowed as he hovered, edging closer to the man in front of him. “You…”

Lou looked confused. “Plagg, right?” he chuckled, grabbing a stick of chalk from his box. “So sorry if we woke you up. Glad to meet you.”

“Meet me?” Plagg shook his little head. “Fr-Fraiser…?”

Frowning, Lou smirked and twiddled the chalk around his fingers, back flush against the dusty board behind him. “You mean my Dad? Yeah, what about him?”

Plagg rushed closer, silently examining every detail of the young man’s face. “My God…”

It made him almost feel sick to know that while he’d been hiding away whenever Adrien sat in here, listening to this man’s voice, he had been unaware of who was speaking.

“You…you look,” he stuttered, moving back to scan him as a whole. His brilliant blue eyes, luscious brown hair, fair complexion: everything left him so taken aback he was lost for words. When he finally structured a full sentence he couldn’t help but smile. “God, you’re just like him, um, er…”

“That’s what Mum said, too. And it’s Louis. Well, Lou, _really_.”

“After his brother?” Plagg smiled at the nod he received in response.

Every time he’d heard some complex terminology spouted at Adrien or listened to a lame joke come from metres away in that room it had been _him_. Lou was exactly like his father but spoke with the cheeky smile of his mother and as Plagg landed in his palm with a gentle thud he had to admit he felt at home.

In the back of his mind he was wondering what would’ve happened if Master Fu had bumped into Lou before Adrien…

“Your father was incredible.”

“I know,” said Lou, smiling sadly. “Mum said he was more of a hero than she was but—” 

“Oh he was. Tikki won’t stand for that fact but I believe it,” interrupted Plagg. “He was just…the greatest man I’ve ever known. I’ve never been so sorry to have lost someone than him.”

Marinette stepped forward, lifting Tikki into her own hands. “Lost him? What do you mean?” She frowned, cocking her head to one side. “Where is he? Fraiser, I mean.”

With a sigh Plagg turned to her. His ears perked up as he stared at the other kwami. “So Tikki didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“What happened to him.”

She looked from Lou to Plagg then back again. “Tikki said he was gone. Where did he go? Haven’t you got the slightest clue where I can find him?”

“I’ve never even _met_  him, Marinette,” Lou deadpanned. “He died before I was born.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lou is inspired by 1) my dad's friend who became a uni professor aged 24 and 2) the best teacher I've ever had.  
> Next chapter will be entirely in the past. My friend has personally swooned over Fraiser from what I've written about him for the next bit so far...that's what MIGHT be in store.  
> I can promise fluff though so yay.
> 
> As always, feedback is MUCH appreciated. I want to know what you all like seeing and want more of (I'll see if I can worm it in)!!


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we head back in time to meet the old heroes and the start of something huge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now it's been an incredibly long time since I updated this, and I am terribly sorry. An awful lot has occurred in my life, both good and bad, but I am hopefully back now. We'll see how it goes, eh?
> 
> Also, apologies but i had to move the swoony Fraiser section later on as I thought of a more appropriate spot for it in the story.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Fraiser Henshaw’s life had been nothing short of a hectic disappointment. It seemed like everything and nothing happened to him simultaneously, leaving him experienced but with nothing to show for it and no rewards set even _beyond_  the horizon. But he would never show it.

His welcome to Paris was non-existent. He’d arrived with only a backpack, some money of the wrong currency, fluency in the language and the useless promise his uncle had given him to sleep on his couch until such a time he could afford his own place. When he first set foot on French soil Fraiser was just another insignificant life there; not the next big name and definitely nothing special. And he was more than okay with that.

Life had toughened him up an awful lot, but he couldn’t complain too much. _People have had it so much worse_ , he would always tell himself. Some people didn’t even have a family so that fact that his was split all apart was irrelevant, right? He knew his father; he had _met_  him. Maybe he was always away and unreachable, doing whatever it was he did to earn the money they received in the post, but he was _alive_. They were poor, that’s for sure, but they got by.

 _Not many mouths to feed, though_ , he’d acknowledge. However that was due to his older brother being off elsewhere, leaving just him and his mother behind in Long Eaton. Just south-west of Nottingham, smack bang in the centre of England, they were treated with less than beautiful weather and an unmistakable accent.

But Fraiser never considered himself unlucky. He still had her, after all.

His mother was the only thing in his life he considered truly beautiful. Through everything she would always be calm, collected and confident. She was stunning and he only wished he looked more like her than he did his father. While his brother, Louis, seemed to inherit a lot of her physical attributes, the only genetics of her’s that Fraiser was granted were her eyes. 

Still, he was so influenced by her it didn’t matter. Since she was born and raised in France, she had taught her sons French alongside perfect manners and impeccable kindness the moment she could. Fraiser picked up her native tongue so much faster than anyone could’ve anticipated, becoming fluent and eventually going on to become fluent in German, too. It was her who first discovered his intelligence.

Fraiser worked hard as if it was something that could’ve been planted into his genes at birth, never giving up on whatever problem was thrown at him. He was, by many people’s standards including those who taught him over the years, a genius. He’d been offered scholarship upon scholarship but could never take the opportunities. It wasn’t a matter of pride; only a matter of money. As much as even a full scholarship lowered the price of the school and university places that were offered to him, none of them were ever low enough for him and his mother to afford.

 _You’re not hard done by. So many others have been in this position, Fray_.

True as it was, it wasn’t any less aggravating.

However then came the day his uncle had sent a letter about his experiences in Paris.

“Come on over the channel,” he’d told him. “My studies were much cheaper over here than up where you are.”

And so Fraiser was off like that, nineteen years old and readily awaiting what it’d be like to live in a new country with new people; what was essentially a brand new life. If his uncle was right then he’d be able to do what he so eagerly wanted: study in depth to eventually become a chemical engineer and put his mind to good use.

Even if he was wrong then at least he was somewhere new that he could explore.

* * *

 

Lou sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course nothing did go to plan. Dad was left awkwardly; a very scientific guy who’s only company was that of his heavily religious uncle, and trying to make his way without another issue blocking him. So he found the first job he could: postman. Every day he would deliver letters and parcels, dropping them through the door or placing them into the hands of someone,” he said, smiling slightly. “‘Always working,’ Mum said. He didn’t allow time for himself. He didn’t seem to want it.”

As she sat and listened to the story, wondering if everything Lou had said so far was indeed the truth or whether it was thoughts fed into the young man’s mouth by his mother, Marinette couldn’t take her eyes off of him. More so the way he spoke with such awkward pride, as if he didn’t know if he should truly want to praise his father.

Something about the way he and Plagg exchanged looks every few moments gave her an inkling as to why. The only person who _truly_  knew Lou’s father here was the little black cat, and he knew whether or not the story was true. Marinette could only assume from the fact he hadn’t corrected the man that Plagg found no fault in the tale.

“He saved up for everything he could need; his own place, the fees for university. People said that smile on his face never wavered,” Lou added calmly. “He knew nothing had gone right, but never would he pay attention to the fact that he was stuck in a loop of misfortune. Dad was stubborn like that.”

“Yes,” gushed Plagg, cutting in before Lou could start another sentence. “And that’s why he was chosen to be Chat Noir.”

* * *

 

“Sir!” he gushed. “I’m sorry. I just got caught up and, um, I had more letters I needed to deliver before I could come back and, um…” Fraiser took a deep breath. “I’m just so sorry.”

The middle aged man in front of him smiled. “Calm down, son. I could’ve waited another few hours, but I really appreciate that you went out of your way to—”

He was interrupted by the bike leant against the wall of the establishment falling to the pavement with a loud _clash_. Fraiser sighed and rubbed his forehead, smiling feebly as he reached over to lift his fallen bike. _Typical_ , he though, as he flashed a perfectly innocent grin at the man.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, gripping the metal body. “You were saying?”

“I was just saying thank you. It was only a loaf of bread so please don’t fret.”

He nodded, blushing as he looked down at the man. “Sorry,” repeated Fraiser out of habit.

“You must realise I was joking, right, son? As much of a pain as it is, I could’ve done it myself.” The gent lifted one of his crutches and tapped them on the side of the door-frame before he pointed it higher towards somewhere up the road. “There’s a bakery is only just opened up the road, there. The, er…”

“Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, sir.”

“That’s the one!” He smiled. “I could’ve made it, but thank you very much.”

Fraiser returned the grin, still beet red with his dark hair all ruffled as he leant over. “I have to be off, but you’re very welcome.”

“I hope you continue to deliver to me.”

“As do I, sir.”

And so he hopped on his bike, off back home to curl up on his uncle’s couch and hope the old bugger hadn’t been out spending the euros Fraiser had earned last week. If he had, of course, nothing would be said. Not only because he was, at this point, used to the feeling of utter disappointment in his uncle, but the young man was only too happy to avoid confrontation.

As he dropped his bag on the wood there was a rattle to accompany the usual _thump_. He watched the little black box settle on it’s bottom, an intricate red pattern donning the top.

“Seriously? I forgot an item?” he whispered. “But it’s not wrapped and there’s no address. What numbskull thought it would be alright to post this.” He lifted it, tossing it up and down gently to gather a guess for what it was.

First thoughts pointed to someone at the depot pulling a prank on him but this certainly wasn’t there when he’d left this afternoon or even upon leaving that man’s house.

 _It has to be a delivery I overlooked,_  he decided. _Otherwise how else would it get in my bag?_

“Then again,” he pondered, toying with the latch to open the box, “I don’t keep my packages in this bag…but it goes against all logic that it’d be anything else.” Unsure of what to do he set it down on the coffee table and rubbed the back of his neck, staring at it. “I can’t open it. It’s not my property. I’m not even interested.”

Only five minutes later his curiosity got the better of him.

He flipped open the lid, and there sat a ring. The pattern was strange, just a single green paw, and his first impression was the thing was a toy. But it was large, big enough for an adult hand, not the five year old he’d expected. The more he looked at it, as always, the more his curiosity got the better of him.

And so he slid it on, unleashing an almost blinding flash of green. Neon, obnoxious, dazzling; it was enough to send him stumbling a few feet backwards. With his eyes firmly shut he took a deep breath, biting his lip and gently clawing at the wall behind him for support.

One eye edged open. The light was gone.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “What the fuck was—”

“Mind your language, kid.”

There was a  _bang._ The wall collided with the back of Fraiser’s head as he leapt and he staggered back to the centre of the room, desperately clutching the messy brown curls that had hardly cushioned the impact. Blue eyes darted around the room, scanning and searching for the source of the voice.

“I know I locked the door,” he winced. “So if that’s you, Uncle Luke, can I request you do the same when you leave?”

The way he addressed the air left him in doubt instantly. Just a second longer and he’d have clocked that the sound was foreign to him, and the tone playful and exciting: thing’s his uncle certainly never put across. But he had no time to further contemplate the issue.

The little black cat came into focus, rising from behind the couch nonchalantly with a subtle grin. “No, ‘Uncle Luke’, buddy. Just me?”

“ _Just_  you?”

“Just me, yes. Plagg.”

There was another _bang_. This time Frasier’s head had hit the floor.

* * *

 

“A man of science, like you said,” Plagg chuckled. “He couldn’t begin to handle the idea of me: something that at the root of it was magical. And he was stubborn. God, he was as stubborn as he always was, set on telling me that I was a figment of his imagination. I was just a product of sleep deprivation or him having now eaten enough over the last few days.

“It took me hours of sitting and something crazy like 7 cups of tea to convince him I was here, real, flesh and blood as you might say.”

The cat’s smile was growing by the minute, and Marinette could feel the corners of her mouth being tugged as it did. Something about Plagg’s enthusiasm with his involvement in this guy’s live was massively captivating.

“And so he agreed to it?” she queried.

Lou smirked once more, crossed his arms and hopping up to sit on his desk. “Obviously.”

* * *

 

The jar of tea bags was almost empty, but Fraiser was too stiff to add to the shopping list stuck to fridge. “You want me to do what?”

Plagg perched atop the fridge with a smile. “Protect the city.”

“On my own?” he sneered. “An Englishman against the Parisian crime network with what? A cat suit and a flying little…”

“Kwami.”

“Excuse me for asking but what language does that root from?”

“One far too old for you to understand, kid. Besides you won’t be on your own.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you have a partner.”

“Who?”

“Now, _that_  I don’t know.” Plagg hopped down and parallel to Fraiser’s eyes. “Now, what’s the cheese situation here? Any cheddar, extra mature? Or parmesan? It’s been an age since I had any parmesan.”

The young man set down his tea and swung open the fridge door. His hand ran through his curls time after time as he bit his lip, eyes flickering from side to side, scouting for cheese. Why he was doing this he wasn’t quite sure, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to the little black cat that had already made himself at home in Fraiser’s kitchen.

Meanwhile Plagg was exploring, popping into each cupboard and peering his nose into every nook and cranny. With each newfound spot he’d check back though, examining Fraiser while he wasn’t looking. He was a well built man from what Plagg could tell since he’d urged him to change into slouchier clothing to calm down. The shirt that covered his frame showed how slim he was, but the chunky thighs brought about by hours of pedalling were clear through the pyjama bottoms he’d thrown on. His arms weren’t visibly strong but as he raised them and reached, the shadows of his muscle took the limelight almost as much as those bloody great curls.

“Your hair is a work of art,” he laughed.

Fraiser turned with a frown, letting out a soft chuckle that transformed to a little smirk. “I usually brush it out, but the rain earlier let it run it’s own course. Thanks for reminding me, I’ll brush it out in a minute.”

Plagg never wanted to tell him not to, but always wished to say it looked much more attractive natural.

“This,” he added, pulling out a wheel of cheese that exuded the most horrendous smell, “appears to be all we have.”

“What is that?” The cat stopped half way and held a paw across his nose in surpise.

“It’s…camembert? Uncle Luke adores it for _some_  reason.”

“It reeks.”

“I know.”

“I’m not eating that, kid.”

“Very wise choice.”

There was a long pause, but soon all the tea and the camembert was gone.

* * *

 

The air was chilly, but somehow the suit kept him warm. Before he’d left Fraiser had brushed out his curls as he’d said he would, and now the dark hair fluttered in the breeze. He’d never felt so strangely happy with the wind in his hair and the lights all twinkling up at him. For the first time it was as though the world had been lifted from his shoulders as this new responsibility was thrown to him, and he was more than ready to let it take him.

 _Post-man by day, helper by night._  He chuckled to himself. _Like a shit Batman…_ Cat _man_.

He let himself hop forward and rest his side against a chimney pot, not because he thought it’d gain anything but because he felt cool. All he was missing was someone to see him, to share with him this moment of utter bliss and note the aura he exuded, so much stronger than the smile he held through every twist and turn of life.

But suddenly there was something there, _someone_  there.

First he heard the distant laughter, then the clatter as they landed. Then he could feel it: the pitter patter of feet across the same tiles his rested on. Fraiser let his head turn without a thought, the grin still there until he saw what was in front of him.

Donned in red from head to toe she stood. Like his, her suit hugged her body tightly, leaving very little to the imagination but Fraiser was too focussed on those eyes to think anymore about _anything_  else. Two dazzling green orbs, almost as striking as the light he’d witnessed earlier, sat circled by red and black. A mask framed by dark auburn hair on either side and kissed by a wispy full fringe. A mask he instantly wanted to rip off and see behind as it clocked.

He coughed and let out a chuckle. “It appears I’m to be your partner, Miss…”

“Um, Ladybug.” Her cheeks flushed slightly, but with the aid of the chill and her fair skin the contrast was huge, beautiful. “And you?”

“Chat Noir. Though I’m so far loving the climbing and the spectacle of Paris at night, I’m less of a fan of these,” he joked, pointing to the ears. “Besides, I hardly feel cut out for the job.”

Ladybug remained quiet with her mouth gaping open for a very long time, but at long last she smiled. It was warm and comforting, and somehow Fraiser didn’t feel like he was far from Long Eaton anymore.

“You’re foreign, aren’t you?” she whispered.

It was his turn to blush. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh, your French is immaculate so don’t think I’m being rude, but the accent is telling me…” She paused, edging closer with a smirk. “American.”

Fraiser felt his mind running smaller in circles with each step they took toward one another. “Unfortunately not. But I’d rather you not guess if that’s okay.”

“Why not?”

“I was told my identity is to remain secret. I hate to think of the harm that could come to others if it was discovered.”

While the only person in Paris who mattered to him was a man who only accepted him because he was obliged to, Fraiser couldn’t handle the idea of a single person getting hurt because of him. He knew he was going to struggle enough hurting people who deserved it let alone accidents.

“So you aren’t going to tell me your name? Or show me your face?”

He shook his head slowly, his handsome features forming a gentle look. “No, love, I’m sorry.”

With a giggle ladybug shook her head and crossed her arms. “And there I was thinking you and I could be thick as thieves: Catman and Spotty. Or something silly like that. Come on, Kitty, let me in.”

Though he tried his best to keep his face straight, Fraiser couldn’t help but let a smile spread across his face. And it grew by the minute, all night, until he climbed into his bedroom window and crawled under the duvet he’d left unmade that more.

In that moment he longed for the next day. Not to the letters or the people or the questions from his Uncle about where the cheese had gone, but the thought that—since he’d see her when the sun went down—the smile he wore as he did all those things wouldn’t be fake.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which ye olde ladybug & chat noir are better explained and Celeste is a cheeky minx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been an age. A long time - a stunningly long time - and I have no excuse. Well, I do, tonnes of them, but I'll save the excuses and just say that I am very sorry for making everyone wait this long. I've been away from writing anything except for my coursework for a very long time, but after re-watching all of what is on uk netflix of ml I had to write another chapter.  
> I can't promise the wait for the next one won't be long, but it won't be as long as the last wait was, that's for sure
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and ENJOY! Let me know your thoughts :)

It didn’t stop. The smiling, that is.

A year went by and through his experiences of running across tiling and watching her kick it to the street below by accident, or watching her punch a guy in the face over and over while he figured out what it was her lucky charm was meant to do that time, Fraiser found a friend in Ladybug, in a way he’d never really had a friend before. 

Sure, he knew tonnes of people—every day he would deliver mail to tonnes of houses, smile and be thanked as they signed for their parcels—but he’d never had friends since he moved to Paris. Back home was similar, but he’d had the odd few people throughout his life who’d laugh at his jokes and humour his strange behaviours or latest obsessions, but nobody (other than family) who’d be there to hold his hand through everything that came his way.

Except now he knew someone that would. She didn’t know his name or what his face was like behind a strip of black, but he knew Ladybug would always be there, and if that wasn’t something to smile about, what was?

Even he was at the university studying (part time for it was all he could afford), he would find himself grinning to himself. Listening to his professors half heartedly as they rambled on about things he’d learned years prior or read in books the over-expensive facility provided, he’d think about whether he’d see his friend that night. Or, if he wasn’t so fortunate as to be called to aid a drastic problem that even, maybe he would the next.

Fraiser certainly didn’t enjoy the harming of criminals, even when they’d done something horrendous, but she’d be there to make it seem good, and reinforce that nagging voice in the back of his overloaded mind that what they were doing was right. They were the good guys.

Although he’d go home to cold room in a flat he still wasn’t sure he was welcome, with just about enough money hidden in the holes formed in his pockets to scrape a meal onto his plate, Fraiser felt like he had the world at his fingertips now he had her to call on.

Of course, he had Plagg, too. The little guy slept on his bookshelf in tent made of pages of chemical equations and words he couldn’t understand, a small blanket over the top of him fashioned from the cloth Fraiser used to use to clean his glasses. He kept his little friend as comfortable as he could, relying on his uncle to stock up on cheeses of various types for the kwami to munch on when he needed it. Plagg too was a friend unlike he had ever known, and not just because he was a five-inch tall cat who could float about his head.

When they talked, he would laugh along with Fraiser and tell him when his hair looked great, or when the bus was due, or that his flies were undone (the latter always a little later than necessary to get another laugh out of the guy). They were thick as thieves, and neither of them would change that. While he loved having a friend in Ladybug, she _didn’t_  know who he was. Plagg did: that made him special.

* * *

 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” Fraiser—or rather Chat Noir—chuckled as he leant back against a chimney, looking over to Ladybug from where he sat.

She spun round and grinned. “You’re kidding me?”

“Nope,” he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Your birthday is on Valentine’s Day?”

Chat nodded. “That’s right, I was born on February 14th.”

“That’s interesting,” she giggled, skipping closer. “You know, I think that’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever shared with me, hot stuff.”

She seemed like such an immature little girl at times, but he knew it couldn’t be true. Her suit left little to the imagination and the whole of Paris could see her figure had to be that of a woman and not a girl. 

Right now the lights of the city rose from behind her, weaving through the gaps in her hair, flaming with the golden glow, and hugged her body in a perfect curved silhouette. She looked exquisite, he had to admit. Not in a way that he felt right thinking either. Ladybug had expressed how gorgeous she though he was time and time again.

_Chat your arms are insane. I could cut myself on your jawline, boy. Chat your stomach is made of rock—God, can you show me?_

They went on, more than he could remember, and they made him laugh more than anything else, mostly because he never let himself take it seriously. He didn’t let each comment touch him where it would matter, instead guiding away from his heart and too his head where it was always, ultimately, dismissed with a smirk and a chuckle.

Once again, it was all he could do. “You’re probably right,” he agreed. “When’s yours?”

“I’ve told you before,” retorted Ladybug, lightning fast. “April 17th. I’m and Aries.”

“Which means absolutely nothing, love.”

She skipped a little closer, smirking at him cheekily. “Oh, I’m learning all about you today, aren’t I, Mr Cynical?”

“I’m not ‘cynical’, Bug. I just think it’s untrue.”

Chat looked up at the sky at the hundreds of dazzling white speckles above him, suddenly back after their disappearance behind cloud the last few hours. He had to admit they were prettier out her than they were through his murky bedroom window, and viewing them this way was better than the telescope he had had lent to him but a member of the Physics department one night. One again, in a way he didn’t feel right thinking, they were more stunning because she was there with him, looking up just as he did. 

“As beautiful as they are,” he said, “the stars don’t define what kind of person you are.”

Ladybug slid down beside him and leant on him a little. “I suppose you’re right. But you’re a typical Aquarius.”

“Oh God, here we go…”

“I’m just saying!” she laughed. “You’re friendly and loving and caring and witty and clever and so many other things.”

He turned his head, rolling his eyes and looked at her with a genuine smile. “You’re very kind, Bug, but you’re all those things, too.” His arm draped over her shoulders and pulled her into his body, feeling the cold of her body and begging to right it in his heart.

“You really think so?” she asked, flicking at the tiled beneath her with her eyes above as his were.

“Of course,” he said, “and not because of the shapes of stars and aligning planets. It’s because you’re a good person, love—a wonderful person.”

When she turned her head to meet his gaze her green eyes glistened up at him with an admiration unknown to Fraiser, and a smile behind them he was touched to see. Something was willing him to pull her closer into a hug and hold, never let her go. He wasn’t sure what was funnier; how seriously she was taking his horoscope or how much he wished he could join her in her mind for just a few minutes and see everything that she was, everything that she knew.

All of a sudden he wanted this insight, to become closer to this incredible young woman and be incredible in her eyes. Did she really not see what a great person she was? Also, why did it feel so great to finally share with her little things, like what he thought of her, like his birthday?

“You’re caring,” she said softly, “just like I said. Very aquariussy.”

“That is never a word.”

She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs, ignoring his little murmur and biting her lip at the rock solid chest that met her there. “Hey, Kitty, I’m the astrology expert here. Not you.”

As she got to her feet and left his side he felt the cold rush in, and he too jumped to his feet, just to stay closer to her. Why, he couldn’t pin down, he just knew it had to be done. She was smaller and even more danger-prone than he was, that was enough of an excuse to shadow her and keep her nearby right?

“So, birthday boy, how old are we tomorrow?”

“It hardly matters, and even if it did, I’m not telling you.” Chat sighed and crossed his arms. “And anyway, it’d give too much away.”

Ladybug squinted at him as if examining his feature in intense detail. “I’m just wondering if you’re older or younger than me. You could be older than me.”

He scoffed. “What?”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s as if you think I’m an old man!”

“Well, maybe you are!”

“I think you’ll find I’m not,” he argued, stepping away, back turned. “I’d like to think I don’t look it, too.”

“You don’t, and either way you know I think you’re a right piece of a—”

“Okay, thats enough!”

Her cheeky smiled shone once more. “What do you mean?”

“With the comments; the derogatory comments,” he complained. “Enough about my arse of my abs or my hair—”

“That’s hardly  _derogatory_ , Kitty.”

“I don’t care. It’s weird, all this flirting.”

Ladybug’s smile disappeared and her face fell. “Oh.”

Behind the mask Fraiser was feeling awful, but in front of her Chat had to remain relatively calm. “I’m sorry, Bug, I just don’t know how to feel about it.”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, “I understand. It was only meant to be flattering.” She tucked a stray, wiggly strand of hair behind her ear and turned away. “I think you’re incredible is all, and I wasn’t sure how to show it.”

“Bug, I’m—”

“I said, it’s fine.” She unhooked her yoyo from her hip and sighed. “Have a good birthday, Chat. I’ll see you another day.”

She flung herself across the gap between the building and paused for a minute, as if she were waiting to look back, _contemplating_  whether to look back, and Chat couldn’t stand it.

“Bug!” he called out, running to the very edge of his rooftop closest to her.

Her head turned silently, auburn hair flying with this wind.

He let out a huge breath and threw his arms up in disarray. “Twenty-one,” he yelled half-heartedly.

“What?”

“I said, twenty-one.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m twenty-one tomorrow.”

From that distance, without his glasses he couldn’t make out every minute detail of her face but he knew she’d be smiling, or at least he hoped so.

“You’re having a party right?”

Chat rubbed his neck and grimaced at the thought. “No, God, no. Not my sort of thing.”

“Why?”

“You saw me at that thing the mayor threw for us; I hated the attention, you had to do it all for me.”

“Okay then!” she shouted, the happy kick back in her voice. “I’ll meet you here at eight.”

“What? Why?”

“Because your my partner.” She swung back towards him and pushed him to the floor, body almost entirely on top of his. “You’re my friend.”

Chat struggled to let out a normal breath, toying with whether the words the dictionary in his head were planning to say were even real given the situation. “And…and…so, er, what does that mean?”

She sat up, pulling him up, as if by the scruff of his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek, smiling brightly as if she’d never looked glum. “And so it means I’m going to give you a present. Goodnight, Chat.”

This time she did fly away, without looking back, without even _thinking_  about it. And, while he’d been so stern to her, complained and tried not to think about it, Chat couldn’t help it and neither had Fraiser. He wanted her to think, he wanted her to look back. More than that; he wanted her to come back, to relive that moment, but miss his cheek this time.

* * *

 

It had almost gone eight and he was waiting, just where he always did when the two arranged to meet. Fraiser had had the most intolerable birthday because, as it happened, his uncle had not only forgotten but refused to believe it was truly his birthday. Of course, he’d got a phone call from his mother and assumed that wherever it was in the world his brother was fighting right now he’d have a moment to think of his little brothers birthday, but it all amounted to about a minute and thirty-five seconds of joy in the possible hours that had been.

All in all, Fraiser wasn’t enjoying himself and was hoping that Chat could salvage the day.

The prospect of seeing Ladybug after last night’s encounter was rattling enough as it was. While he’d figured out nothing in his mind and answered none of the questions he’d posed to himself the night before, he wasn’t sure he minded. It felt like he’d be able to, somehow, anyway; as if the answers would find their way there.

He fiddled with his ring as he waited, still wondering how the things she always said about him made him feel. She wanted him to be flattered, and yes he was, but it made him uncomfortable. It was the only point in time where he felt her a stranger, but only like she was another version of herself. He _was_  flattered, very flattered, and he wanted to flatter her. He thought she was beautiful, he always had, and he’d always admired her silly nature and confidence to do what was right and what would make everyone happy.

When he flew through the air as Chat Noir, or scribbled down notes or pushed through letterboxes as Fraiser, he thought she was incredible, and he looked forward to every moment that he could see her.

“I should tell her that,” he mumbled allowed.

“Should tell her what?”

Chat jumped and spun round on the spot to see Ladybug, smiling and walking towards him slowly. “H-Hi,” he stuttered out, smiling.

“Hi,” she replied with a perfect white grin. “Happy birthday, Kitty.”

“Thanks.” He ran his hand through his curls nervously and stared up at the stars. They weren’t there, they’d gone in, and it made his heart drop slightly—there wouldn’t be a repeat of last night.

He fought against the disappointment on his face and took at cautious step forward. “You said you had a present for me?”

“Easy, tiger,” giggled Ladybug, stopping where she stood and holding out her hand. “First I want us to go somewhere.”

Chat froze and crossed his arms, refusing to let them escape and grab the delicate outstretched hand before him. “Erm, why? I don’t like stuff like that, Bug, you know that…”

“I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not to be around other people, its so it’s just us.”

“But, it’s just us _here_ , too.”

“You really like your routines, don’t you?”

He didn’t have a response, just a helpless puff of a laugh.

“Look,” she sighed, smiling patiently, “come on. You won’t get your present unless you come. I promise we’ll be completely alone—I want us to be.”

“Yeah?” he tried, weakly.

“I promise.”

So Chat took the plunge, uncrossed his arms and reached out. Her fingers threaded between and he held them as tight as he could without letting go. As he held on as they threw themselves across the skyline of the capital, the foreign young man felt undeniably at home, and he wished nothing more than to call his home wherever it was she’d be.

 _That’s it,_  he thought as he followed, powerless to her free-will, _I can’t deny it. I completely and totally love her._

* * *

 

At first Chat thought they were in the middle of nowhere, miles from Paris and impossibly useless if the city were to need them. Ladybug had told him to close his eyes and trust her, so he did, as always. The pair had ended up somewhere untouched by anyone or anything but the breeze and the gentle frost that adorned each blade of grass.

It was a field on a slight incline, where a small, silent barn stood in it’s furthest corner, where the two of them stood side by side. In the distance he could see the city and felt much more at ease—even more so when she took him by the hand and lead him into the barn.

“Close your eyes,” she said, once again, and he obeyed.

He couldn’t help running with her innocent schemes and tricks; he wanted fun and pleasure, his day had been below average and this was it’s kick. And he couldn’t wait to tell her, if the time that was right came, how much he cared about her.

She pushed him back and onto what he assumed was a hay bale. It prickled his thighs and the smell along with the frosty air made his nose tickle. His hands fell into his lap and he tapped at his knees, anxious for the moment when he was told to open his eyes.

He was right to be. She’d organised a real surprise.

“Okay,” she said carefully, her voice echoing from not too far away. “You have to promise not to get mad at me, alright? Don’t freak out and don’t tell me off, okay? You don’t have to do the same once I’ve done it.”

Chat frowned, his eyes still firmly shut. “Erm, what are taling about? And why exactly would I be mad, Bug? It’s a present, right? I will like it?”

“Well, I like to think so.” Ladybug sounded pretty content with herself, but there was a slight twang of fear in her voice. “I’d love it if you did it for me, anyway.”

That installed a little more hope into the guy.

“Okay, like I said, don’t be mad.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try not to be.”

“No really,” she said, much closer now. “Please.”

His eyes fluttered open, and damn did he want to be mad.

There stood, a young woman, dressed smartly in a burgundy dress with tiny black stripes down it, hugging her curves so flatteringly he was speechless. The most stunningly beautiful auburn hair, untouched by the wind outside (unlike his) lay across her shoulder, and above her eyes in a messy full fringe. She shook her head every once in a while to right it, get it out of her way of those incredibly green eyes, a trait he’d seen a thousand times but always above a dainty red and black mask.

Yes, he was speechless, but he had so much to say.

“No,” was all he could get out as his eyes flew shut again. “This is ridiculous, I’m not looking at you, I can’t be looking at you. Please don’t tell me what I’m thinking you’ve done is what you’ve done.”

A sigh erupted from her again. “I knew it. I knew you’d be mad at me.”

“Mad? Of course I am! Are you insane? Change back, now!”

“I can’t,” she replied, vulnerable and quiet, or maybe just walking further away. “My kwami needs time to recharge. God, why did I think it was a good idea?”

Chat opened his eyes and burst into laughter, and angry spitting laughter. “Oh, how would I know? You didn’t have to do _anything_  let alone show me who you fucking are!”

“Oh, boy,” said Ladybug, looking him dead in the eye. “You swear. You can swear, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Neither do I most of the time,” he said, raising his voice and himself from the bale, “but you’re _really_  pushing it.”

“Scary.” She smirked.

“I’m not joking, you’re seriously insane. Do you know how dangerous it is?”

“What that my partner knows what I look like? I haven’t even told you my name!” she laughs. “Or how old I am, even!”

He stormed forward throwing his arms about all confused. “Good, and don’t while you’re at it.”

“I’m nineteen—”

“Ladybug!” His face was stern.

“And my name’s Celeste.”

He threw his arms up and spun arm, rubbing his eyes as though it would re-write everything he’d seen, but he knew he couldn’t. Deep down, somewhere below all the boiling confusion and frustration and his reckless team-mate, he knew that there was clarity in his thoughts, and that—ultimately and unfortunately—they were glad to see what hid behind the mask.

Chat turned back to her and sighed. “I am mad,” he stated, “very, incredibly mad.”

“Super mad?”

“Yes, _Ladybug_ , super mad.”

She bit down on her lip and tapped together the toes of her boots. It was undeniable that she was beautiful and that everything he’d thought about her before was only heightened now he’d _really seen her_  but that didn’t change the situation, the strange, impossible situation she’d created.

Celeste had no idea how to feel, but the way Chat looked at her made her feel like a criminal. There was no way that he was ever going to trust her after this, no way they’d ever have an easy night like the one before, under the stars and laughing along with each other. They were best friends and she’d just made it weird; really weird.

“You think I wanted this?” he whispered.

She barely knew how to reply to his pained voice, feeling her own crack as she spoke. “I thought you might, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, because I’m dying to know who you are. I feel so stupid being so fucking in love with someone I know barely anything about—who I don’t even know the name of!”

Chat froze.

“But you’re right, I’m so stupid,” she whimpered, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

It hurt him to see and he almost reached out to pull her into a hug but she turned away before the courage could fully take hold of him. “Bug…”

“I was selfish, really selfish and I’ve let you down, just like I always do. I’m too dim to figure out how to use my own power on my own, I’m too stupid to figure out when I’m very clearly lost and I _hate_  to admit I’m wrong but I am. I’m stupid! So fucking stupid!”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed as quietly as she could; she didn’t want him to feel anymore awkward. Not only had she done this, ruined everything but she’d gone and made it worse. She wasn’t meant to tell him how she felt, not unless he’d had similar feelings, so why had she done it why had she let it slip like that.

Celeste was so focussed on her mistake and blind with her own tears she barely noticed the green light that flashed behind her. All that made her turn around was the sudden feeling of a hand on her back, one that edged down her arm and reached round to take her hand, spinning her body with two strong arms.

In front of her stood a handsome young man, incredible dark curls tousled by the wind that she’d never wanted to run her hands through more than right now, and a face, so familiar and yet so new. She barely knew how to navigate it, but it was familiar in more ways than one, and she certainly knew her way round the blue eyes that stared down at her, no longer with distaste but pure adoration.

“Hi,” he whispered, resting his hands on her cheeks and pulling a crooked smirk more sexy than the cute he was going for. “I’m Fraiser.”

Celeste’s hand journeyed up to sit along his jaw, tracing the sharp edge with her thumb “Fraiser…” She toyed with the word like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever hear. “Celeste,” she mumbled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” replied Fraiser, smiling down at her helplessly. “I’m really sorry but I think I’m in love with you.”

She burst into giggled and pulled him into her, their lips crashing together in a moment she’d only dreamed of. Neither of them could’ve imagined the feeling, the connection and the spark the two were lighting a fire with they knew it felt good; it felt right.

Fraiser couldn’t be angry anymore as he pulled away and looked straight at this strange new woman he _knew_  was his best friend in the world. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I just—”

“Shh!” Celeste grinned and pulled him into another kiss and held him close when they finally parted. “Don’t you dare apologise for anything, Mr…”

“Henshaw. Miss…”

She smiled. “Durant. Wait...aren't you my postman?”

“I think so, yeah.” His smirk was immeasurable. "Happy Valentine's Day..."

And so the best of times began.


End file.
